Echizen's Tears
by OilWar
Summary: It had only been 4 years since mother's death, 3 months since coming to Japan, 2 weeks since his cousin left to study abroad in America, and in 1 day he would be playing in his first official tennis tournament for Seigaku. His life was already a nightmare
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis and this is a fan made story. =P

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><p>His cousin had left him. His cousin was the only protection he had had, and now, she was gone. Ryoma scratched the back of his ear with his racket restlessly, stepping from side to side inside the locker room, only part way paying attention to what Momo sempai was caring on about. It was getting late, only he and Momoshiro remained. The sempai was going on and on about Saint Rudolph's and some other schools to look out for. The 7th grader didn't really care because he was just going to whoop their ass anyway- regardless of their schools reputation. Suddenly Momo paused waving his arms around frantically, and it was then that Echizen realized that he was supposed to answer some sort of question.<p>

"I SAID WHY AREN'T YOU GETTING CHANGED!"

"Che" Ryoma paused setting his racket down and readjusting his cap, going back to his own inner musings while Momo continued with his long winded speech. The 7th grader sat down on the bench next to the lockers than busied himself with putting his racket back into its bag, pretending to struggle with the zipper for awhile. Muttering beneath his breath and nodding to Momo sempai's exaggerated charades appropriately. Anything to buy time. But he could only take so much time putting away his racket. The prince slowly took off his shoes first, purposefully untying the strings and loosening them all the way up before his foot fell out of its rubber casing. Shoes were always a safe option to start with. Only they never bought enough time. Never. Pausing for a moment to figure out what should come next, he slowly peeled off his socks. Socks were safe as well. There in front of him were bare sweaty feet. Perfect. He opened up his bag once more pulling out some foot powder then began rubbing his feet all over. The perfect time waster. But once again Momo sempai was being too perceptive for his own good.

"Come on Ryoma we don't have all day. I'm paying for your burgers! I think your feet can go without powder just this on time." by now Momo was already in his after school clothes, "besides we didn't even run that many laps today and you were slacking off anyway- running so slowly when we all know you can run faster."

Ryoma exhaled loudly, trying not to sound nervous, in truth it was killing him to run even as fast as he had. The special juice wasn't helping his stomach out either. He was just so tired. He didn't think he'd gotten any sleep at all the night before. "Madda madda dane" he replied trying to make himself appear alert and succeeding.

"Ugh, fine then, whatever. I'm going to go get a soda from the vending machine. Meet you there." Momo smiled then leaped over quickly grabbing Ryomas hat and making a mad dash for it. "I know you'll change faster now!" He shouted on his way out, nearly tripping over his own two feet as the door swung shut behind him.

Perfect. No one was there. Ryoma quickly grabbed his clothes then slipped into the restroom stall. One couldn't be too cautious after all. First, a pair of jeans. He missed being able to wear shorts, especially in the hot summer weather, but he had to do what he had to do. The pants were baggy and loose. Dad definitely did not know how to shop for clothes. He hadn't had to wear jeans since last winter, while he was in America. He needed new clothes- he missed his cousin already. Once he was in his jeans he grabbed a plain white t-shirt and an old coat hanging it up on the stall hook. He then practically threw off his Sagaku Regulars jacket and undershirt and reveled in the cool air. He was always so hot and stuffy- it felt nice being able to cool down a bit. He could feel the sweat all over his body making him sticky and somehow colder. The open air was enough to make him happy, if only for awhile. A small odder drifted towards his nose causing the teen to hold his breath a bit as he reached down into his bag for a stick of deodorant. Cheap deodorant. He had asked his father for more money to buy something decent but all he had was a hundred yen. So he made do scraping money up from under couch cushions and laundry bins. It didn't even smell that good, but it was better than musty sweat he supposed. He quickly slipped on the white t-shirt followed by a black hoody frowning slightly as he felt himself baking once more. It couldn't be helped he supposed, he couldn't let them know. By the time he stepped out of the stall he looked like a want to be gangster because nothing quite fit and everything on his body was covered from head to toe. He could be hiding a knife anywhere on him. He laughed a bit to himself at the thought. Sometimes he wished he had the courage to stab someone. But he was cowardly, weak, and stupid. It was so much easier to run.

And then somehow he found himself in front of the vending machines with a rather tall Momo sempai wrapped around his shoulders and grinning. His hat snuggly fitting atop his head once more. The moron was now chatting amusedly about a rumor he had heard. Some person or other was dating some other person or other. He could care less. They were about to walk on when Momo stopped abruptly turning to face the younger boy,"Hey we're not in that big of a hurry, you should grab yourself a Ponta it's so hot outside today." the teen paused leaving ample time for Ryoma to interrupt him.

"No I'm fine."

"Really" the elder asked quizzically, "It must be like a hundred degrees under that jacket. Take it off I'll carry it for you." the teen smiled hitting the younger boy on the shoulder playfully, not noticing the way Ryoma flinched at the contact.

"No it's fine" the boy grit out trying his best not to yell and scream at his sempai for asking too many damn questions. It's not like he didn't want a soda he just didn't have the money. His dad wasn't exactly great at remembering to give him money, and ever since his cousin left there was never any food in the house to pack for lunch and never any money in his wallet either. He just wanted to get to the burger-joint Momo sempai was paying for and fill his gut. He had skipped lunch. Just like he had the day before. It was probably going to become a regular thing he supposed. Unless he stole from his dads wallet, but, he shuddered at the thought. No never. He missed his cousin already.

And somehow Ryoma was on the back of Momo's bike hanging on for dear life as his crazy sempai whizzed down the road toward their favorite fast food joint. Ryoma was already thinking of his order, 5 cheeseburgers, a large Ponta, 2 orders of large fries, and an ice-cream. His tongue drooled at the thought of it. All he had had for breakfast was a bit of left over rice. He was starving. He thought back to his cousin's bento lunches. He never really thanked her enough for that. He wished he had thanked her more for taking the time to cook for him. His cousin had left to study at an American University. He wasn't expecting her to leave until fall but the school wanted her to attend during summer for some sort of orientation for foreigners or whatnot. She wasn't in their home that long. Not nearly long enough. He knew is cousin was supposed to be staying at his house in Japan temporarily, but not that temporarily. Ryoma had only lived in Japan since spring when the school year started. He was mentally kicking himself, why did she have to go? Was god mad at him? No, he calmed down trying to think rationally, she just didn't know. She didn't know what he had to go through in America, and or how it would start all over again when she left. Well it already had.

And then, somehow, they were there. Ryoma practically flew off the bike and banged open the door to the restaurant. Food. He had almost forgotten what true hunger felt like. Almost. The smell of grease and sugar greeted his nostrils leaving him in near tears. 'Hurry up Momo' he mentally chided not caring that his sempai had to lock up his bike outside first. All he cared about was getting his burgers. Hopefully he could start a war with momo over who could eat the most again. Then if he played his cards right he could sneak a few hamburgers into his bag and-

"Ochibi, it's time to order what do you want?"

Yes he needed to start a war, "I'll have 2 cheeseburgers" Ryoma started watching the employee type in the numbers somewhat happily.

"And I'll have 3"

"Make that 4"

"What I can't do two at once," the female worker began only to be interrupted by Momo-

"5 and a large fries"

"6 and 2 large fries and a Ponta"

"We don't have Ponta he-" The girl spoke up only to be interrupted.

"Coke then."

"Make my 6 burgers quarter pounders instead and add a large coke and an apple pie" Momoshiro cut in.

"Mine as well only 2 apple pies."

"Add an ice-cream cone to my order"

"Add a double fudge Sunday, Large" Ryoma glared.

"Make my cone large chocolate dipped!"

By now the girl looked ready to faint as she had manned two cash registers and couldn't keep up with the requests, "So uh that's 6 quarter pounders, 2 large fries, a large coke, 2 apple pies and a large fudge cone for him, and the same for you only a large fudge Sunday?"

"Right"

"Right"

The girl let out a sigh of relief as Momo handed over some bills and the receipts began to be printed up, "that's a lot of food" the girl remarked handing over the receipts after having drawn circles around the order numbers.

"We work hard" Echizen spoke up.

"What are you talking about you didn't even run today."

"But I had to-" the pair began to argue gathering a fairly large crowd of spectators until their order numbers came through.

"Arogato!" Momo spoke up grabbing two trays off the counter as a lady called "Numbers 442 and 443" for the third or fourth time; the pair having not heard thanks to their constant bickering. Ryoma snatched his tray out of his sempais hands eagerly nearly forgetting to set it down before he tore into his first burger. He had succeeded in his mission. He most likely had enough food for dinner, breakfast, and possibly lunch tomorrow. If he played his cards right.

Yuck, he paused, American food for breakfast. And not only that but old stale hamburgers for breakfast. He frowned, food was food. His mom always cooked American food and his cousin too. No he couldn't think about that, he bit a huge chunk out of his quarter pounder in thought, that was all over.

The prince wanted to laugh as he watched Momo slowly turn green before rushing off toward the restrooms. He had over eaten again. Ryoma stuffed his leftovers into a paper bag than placed it securely in the front pocket of his backpack while Momo was gone. He wondered idly if he would get food sickness if he ate it later, but shook such thoughts out of his head. Food was food. Surely the microwave would kill all of the germs anyway. Momo was taking a long time in the bathroom so Echizen decided it'd be best to read up on his doubles play. He pulled out Doubles for Beginners and skimmed through the next chapter uninterestedly. His mind was in another place entirely at the moment. He couldn't think about tennis at all lately, he was too worried about other things. He sat their lazily in his own thoughts for what must have been a half hour before Momo returned looking just a bit better than before.

"So uh, want me to give you a ride home," Momo asked embarrassedly, "Did you seriously eat all that food? HOW!"

"Hmm" Echizen looked up from his book before placing it back inside his tennis case, "I have an errand I need to run and I threw a couple cheeseburgers away" the teenager replied offhandedly.

"Oh, then why order so much?"

"Cuz you ordered so much."

"That's just stupid."

"You started it."

"No, no more fighting" Momo paused, "Well I can give you a ride to wherever your going if you want. Where too?"

"Oh uh" Ryoma paused not having expected Momo to offer him a ride; he was already lying through his teeth, what was one more lie. But then he'd fell bad making Momo peddle for no reason.

"The tennis shop."

"Oh what for?" Momo questioned offhandedly.

"Oh" Echizen paused trying to think he really didn't need anything, and he didn't have any money anyway, "Dad needs some more grip tape."

"Oh I see" Momo sempai grinned, "The old man plays tennis too does he?"

"Yeah, he's pretty good" Echizen replied not liking Momo's insistence on asking so many questions.

"Oh really, may I should play him somet-"

"No, he's busy"

"Oh ok" Momo paused, "Well to the shop we go Echizen"

"Arigato" Ryoma replied playing with his cap and picking up his bags, mentally preparing himself for another horrifying bike ride. It was too bad he had to lie to Momo, but there was nothing else he could do. He had already said he had errands and to not have a place to go would look to suspicious. He couldn't exactly tell Momo, 'oh I just don't like being at home'. That would put him under a microscope. He could hide this. He had too.

Echizen readjusted himself standing on the pegs on Momo's bike; holding on tightly as the crazy lunatic jumped another curb. "Can you uh slow down maybe just a bi-"

"The faster I go down the hill, the less energy I waste up the hill" Momo laughed pushing his bike even faster, causing Ryoma to cringe, although no one could see it.

After a nauseating ride Ryoma let go standing outside his favorite shop, "Um thanks Momo sempai" he grinned, "You can uh leave now"

"But Echizen Kun, what if there's a bully in there or something."

Ryoma kicked himself mentally once more, why was Momo so damn annoying? Why couldn't he just let things be? Why was he always trying to pry into his life! By now anger was rolling off of the small boy in waves, but no, he couldn't let anyone see it. He readjusted his cap to cover his eyes sulking slightly. What was he supposed to do? He didn't have any money. What to do? Then a thought struck him. Yeah, he could do that.

"Hey Momo just wait outside for a bit, so you don't have to lock up your bike."

"Oh ok, but I'm coming in if you take too long."

"Ok" Ryoma paused, could he really do it? What if he was caught? What would- no he couldn't think about it. Besides if he was caught it wouldn't be the end of the world. That would just be three free meals right?

He stepped into the shop sighing as the bell dinged and the owner greeted him a little bit too enthusiastically. He already felt guilty and he hadn't even done it yet. He walked toward the back of the shop peering around nervously, good no one was there. There were no cameras in this shop, he knew that. Just a mirror. And from this angle. Yes, he could do this. He shakingly grabbed the small thing of tape and stuffed it under his hoodie, then walked out stiffly, trying not to act guilty.

"Nothing you like Echizen?" the shop keeper asked cheerfully.

"Uh no, I forgot my wallet, sorry." He spoke hoping his nervousness didn't show through, another lie, he was becoming good at that.

"Oh well, come again." the man murmured as Ryoma quickly left. He couldn't believe he had just done that. He couldn't believe he hadn't been caught. He stepped onto Momo's pegs urging him to get a move on, making Momo sempai laugh.

"Thought you didn't like speed, hey where's your bag?"

"Oh I just put it in my pocket see?" Ryoma quickly and discreetly showed Momo the tape before grabbing momo's shoulders once more.

"In a hurry ay?"

"You're going to go fast anyway to might as well get used to it", he paused, "Plus uh dad called and I have chores to do and stuff," Ryoma smirked knowing that Momo believed him, staring at the pavement as the bike rolled away quickly. He could hide everything, it was all good. He heard someone shouting after him, someone familiar as the bike quickly accelerated back down the hill. He turned around slightly frightened, had someone seen? And there was Tezuka shouting and chasing after him before quickly giving up. Momo must have been deaf, but then again Momo didn't have the adrenalin rush Echizen had from stealing something. The feeling of nausea, his heart pounding through his head, his fingers shaky and accumulating sweat. And Tezuka had seen, he was sure of it. Shit, what had he done this time. This was just fucking great. Even from this distance he could tell that Tezuka was pissed. He was going to be off the team for sure, and for what? Some tape? He stopped thinking for a bit, no it wasn't that bad, so what if he was kicked off the team. It would spare him the pain of running and drinking Inui's concoctions every morning right? He could always play street tennis. Who was he kidding? The whole school would know he was a thief, and his father would be called and his father- he frowned gripping Momo tighter. His captain might be calling Nanjaro at this very second. He was screwed. He dreaded returning home more than ever.

Momo had dropped him off in front of his house and left for his own, only the 7th grader wasn't going to go home. He walked around for awhile until he could see the sun going down in the horizon. He couldn't help from peering over his shoulder in fear looking around for his invisible stalker Tezuka the whole day. He felt sick to his stomach. He was no better than a common criminal now. He really was a loser, and spoiled brat, a good for nothing piece of shit that wouldn't do anything with his life. Just like dad said. He sturdied himself against a fence. A store fence, someone's shop, would this count as loitering? Another thing to add to his growing rap sheet he mused. He felt dizzy for some reason. Perhaps dehydration? It was rather hot. He started to roll up his sleeves before fear gripped him again. No, someone might see. He kept his jacket on snuggly. So hot, but the sun was setting. It must have been around 10 or something he mused. Dad was going to be. No he could sneak around him, maybe. He begrudgingly turned back toward home. He was screwed.

He passed scores of apartment buildings, and crossed many busy streets, all with that invisible fist clenching his heart painfully. His impending doom. Ryoma tried to plan a way to get inside safely, had he leaned the ladder against the roof that morning? If not did he have the key to the back door? It was some time in to the night but several people were still running about on the busy cross street just before the road that lead to his residence. His phone went off and he knew it was dad; no one else would call this late. He could feel his cell phone vibrating in his jean pocket. He didn't pick up. He didn't feel like being screamed at. No not tonight.

The teen arrived home well into the night slowly opening the door, cringing as the hinges squeaked in agony. All the avoidance in the world could not stop the inevitable, he mused. He still lived here, he still had to sleep here, he still had to do his homework, and he probably should shower and maybe wash the dishes and eat. But would dad let him?

All the lights were on as he quickly made his way across the hall like a rat, desperately trying to reach his room as quickly as possible. If he could get there in time than he could lock the door and just turn on his mp3 player to block out dads curses while he finished up his English essay and trig problems and studied for his Japanese history exam. Hopefully after that dad would have blacked out on the couch allowing him to wash away the sweat that he'd accumulated all day by walking around in the searing sun with a bulky sweater on.

Only fate had something different in mind. He was so focused on getting to his room that he didn't notice his dad sprawled across the floor reading another perverted magazine. That is until he tripped over him. He was screwed. His dad was pissed. His father's eyes were red and puffy, his movements staggered, his breath reeking of sake. No no no. Ryoma tried to get away scrambling up to his feet quickly. Dad was so unpredictable when he was drunk.

"W-what are you afraid of yirr o-own daaaad Ree-o-mam?"

"N-no sir" he stood up straight turning to face his father timidly, "G-gomen, I didn't see you-"

"W-watch whereyour go-going nexxxxt time," the man slurred kicking Ryoma in the shin before staggering upward into a standing position. His whole body red, a dopey look on his face, the look that sent Ryoma running for fear. Only despite what his body was telling him, he could not run. Dad would only get more angry.

"w-What you staring at?"

"Nothing" Ryoma spoke withdrawing into himself trying not to upset his father.

"Y-you peeeice of sh-shit, what da hecks wrong wiiiith you? Get outta my site."

"Ai sir" Ryoma's hands shook and just as he was about to go to his room his father called again.

"I s-said what yoooou staring aat"

"Nothing"

And then the teen felt a fist connect with his face. He doubled over holding his cheek. It hurt. It hurt a lot. He clenched his fist. He could, he could fight back but no. He picked up his racket once more then slowly climbed his way upstairs, ignoring the insults his father shot at him, "Stupid dis disrespectful brat". Shit. How would he explain this? He had some cover-up, he reminded himself, he had kept it just in case.

"You n-know why I I drink don't you you boy?"

"Y-yes" Echizen shouted from up the stairs, tears prickling the corner of his eyes.

"I d-drink cuz yourrr such uh damn stoo stupid brat. Can't can't even beat me at ten- tennis and you you think your hot stuff don't dontchu? Arro- arrogant dip- dipshit, what was I talking about again?"

Ryoma ignored him trying to block out what he heard from his head, but found it hard. Someday he'd beat him at tennis. And then he'd stop. Someday. Besides dad didn't mean any of it. He was just drunk. He wouldn't remember what happened the next day anyway. The teen opened up his room locking the lock on the door knob, then the chain lock, then the bolt lock. He dropped his bags on the floor than rummaged around for his music player. He turned up some song or other thoughtfully staring at himself in the mirror above his bed. There was a deep purple bruise forming on his face. Great. Just Great. He unzipped his bag pulling out his books and papers. Now where did he put that pen again? He searched for awhile until he finally found it under his bed.

"So if x equals, then..." Only he found it hard to concentrate and snapped the book shut. One missed assignment wouldn't kill his grade. He might even get detention and that would give him a reason to miss afternoon practice. The less of Tezuka he had to see, the better.

He didn't get any of his math homework done that night, but he did manage to finish his English paper and dump the trash. He passed out at half past two, only found sleep difficult to obtain. What would he tell his boucho the next day? "Oh I paid using dads credit card over the phone and just picked it up" No that lie wouldn't fly because than Tezuka would ask him to call in and place orders for the team, "Oh I just forgot, I'll pay for it after school". No he was sure he looked rather nervous when he performed the act. No matter how he looked at it he couldn't explain it without saying he flat out stole it. And so he tossed and turned, smashing the alarm clock as it blared at 6:30 in the morning. Another day to survive.

He stretched lion like, stepping out of his room and walking into the shower sleepily- zombie like. Shampoo. Dad needed to buy shampoo. He quickly scrubbed down using only bar soap cursing as his hair tangled up. Now he'd have to run a brush through it. Just another thing to do. He hurriedly put on his school uniform and shoes questioning whether or not to go to practice. He hadn't washed his tennis uniform that night. Usually his cousin would do that. He frowned, his cousin was a jerk. No, she didn't know, he sighed. To show or not to show? But still, not showing up would make him look even more guilty than he already was, he mused. He lazily dragged the comb through his locks than picked up his toothbrush and began brushing his pearly whites. It was then that he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

"Oh, yeah, right." He murmured sleepily rubbing his eyes before scrounging around until he found a small bottle of concealer; he wasn't great at putting it on and sloppily put globs of it all over himself. It took him a good twenty minutes to smooth the thing out enough to cover the bruise. So long as no one got to close he'd be fine he mused while slipping the bottle into his pocket. And I'll have to put more on in the bathroom when it starts to wear off he continued before switching to talking to himself. "To bad I don't have facial hair yet, then I could just keep a beard and-" he stopped short, "Ugh I'm talking to myself again."

He told dad he needed money for lunch but he was to hung over to respond. No matter. He could live with it. Only, he didn't have time to eat anything before Momo arrived on his bike, waving at him through the window. He was going to starve. Ryoma played with his long sleeves nervously, then fetched his hat from off the hook by the door and tied up his shoes. With his bag slung over his shoulder he was ready to go, only he remembered his trigonometry homework and history test. Damn, he was screwed. His teachers might even call home, but then his dad didn't think he was going to be anything anyway so what did it matter? He shook himself out of these musings; no he'd prove him wrong.

The trip to school was silent, which was odd considering how talkative Momo sempai usually was. Had Tezuka told him? Probably, Echizen pondered gripping Momo harder. Why had he been so dumb? Why hadn't he just said "oh I forgot my wallet"? He knew, or at least thought he knew why. He wanted to get caught. He wanted to go to prison. He wanted to get away from home for a few days. But going to juvenile prison and having your bachou catch you were two different things. The latter being worse than the former.

And so without a word being exchanged Echizen headed for the locker room stepping inside with his bag but freezing up upon seeing the entire team there. There was no way to hide his bruises in front of so many people. He slid his racket into a locker than stepped out taking deep breaths, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Maybe he was over reacting? Maybe Tezuka hadn't seen anything at all? The prince pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned against the wall outside, not paying attention to anything around him. And then someone was was in front of him blocking his sun.

Take off you jacket" a gruff voice ordered, bachou? Oh no did he somehow find out. No, no, that was impossible. Echizen quivered slightly in fear before looking up.

"I don't want to" he replied trying to maintain his arrogant tone hoping his captain was just concerned about the heat.

"If you're going to act like a criminal I'm going to treat you like one" Tezuka bit out erasing any hope Echizen had of Tezuka not having seen the crime, while at the same time confirming that he didn't know Echizen's darkest secret, "now take off your jacket and let me see what's inside. Who knows what you could have STOLEN from the locker room."

"Nothing I didn't do anything." Echizen denied. Denial might work. Only somehow he knew it wouldn't.

"I'll believe that when I see it", Tezuka grabbed his jacket trying to forcibly yank it off, only Ryoma was one step ahead and twisted out of his grip. No no, no one could see, especially not bachou. And so Echizen ran for the hills only to be caught once again by his arm.

"Look I don't know what has gotten into you but it ends now", Tezuka reached over and gripped his shoulder bending down to eye level making Ryoma wince slightly. Only his captain mistook it for a look of regret.

"L-look I'll pay for it, I just-"

"No excuse" Tezuka bit out, "You're lucky I'm not kicking you off the team! I'm going to have a talk with your father and-"

"No" Ryoma shouted a bit too quickly.

"What afraid of the consequences? Then you shouldn't have stolen. I paid for that tape by the way. Why'd you do it? Wanted to see if you could get away with it? Think it was fun? I already talked to Momo over the phone and he was clueless about it and really upset, so go on explain yourself."

"I just uh" everything was too much for the 7th grader to handle, "Fine then if you want me off the team I'll leave" he finally bit out running away, only this time Tezuka didn't follow. Something was wrong. He looked around; maybe someone else had a clue. He'd have to tell the team why Echizen left anyway. He pulled the regulars out of their laps, much to Inui's dismay then sat them around for a group talk. He was going to get down to the bottom of this. Only unbeknownst to them Echizen did not run to class, instead he settled behind a the tennis wall- a few sheets of plywood painted green attached to the fence surrounding the courts- listening to what his team mates had to say. Or at least bits and pieces.

"So anyway I caught Echizen stealing from the Tennis shop the other day"

"What? Ochibi... is that why he left so early today?"

"Yeah you told me earlier. He seemed out of it today when we rode here."

"My data shows that he has been performing poorly over the last 3 days."

"What do you think-"

"Maybe he's being bullied"

"He won't take off his jacket"

"We should talk to him"

"I confronted him but he won't say anything"

"Maybe he's scared."

"Do you think he did it to join a gang?"

"He's been acting kind of strange."

"He didn't eat lunch yesterday" a young voice chimed in, probably one of the 7th graders who had been busy picking up balls and overheard what was going on. Shit shit shit! Echizen pressed his ear against the plywood wall further, no no they were getting dangerously close to the truth.

"There is a 75% probability he is being bullied"

"BULLIED! WHY I'll-"

"Pshhh"

"Anyway just look out-"

He couldn't hear anything else, but it seemed they were going back to jogging again. He could hear the whistle being blown and the groans and whispers of some new special juice being exchanged. Bullied huh? Yeah he could go along with that. It would make it a lot easier to come up with excuses. It was just another lie. Another lie. He hated lying, but he had to do what he had to do ne? The prince slowly readjusted his cap and made his way to homeroom. Now how to make this lie believable? He was already going to be skipping lunch anyway and yeah if he just washed off the makeup on his face where dad had hit him last night. Yeah this could work. But he couldn't let anyone know the truth, he just couldn't. He'd be sent to live with his relatives in the states just like dad said, and then he'd be really would be bullied again and and. He couldn't think about it. How would not return to his old school in America. Never.

Ryoma slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to class. He was tired, but perhaps English calss could fix that. Somehow he found himself thinking again, passing Fuji at the fountains and purposefully keeping his eyes covered with his cap. He could see the look of disappointment. He was a failure. The 7th grader threw open the doors to the school trying his best to pretend that everything was normal. Everything was not normal. He was going to class an hour early for peep sakes. He groaned watching a student purchase some kind of snack from a vending machine. He was so hungry. He hadn't eaten since the previous night, he had underestimated his appetite and eaten all of the leftover burgers in one sitting, and he doubted he'd be invited for burgers tonight. He really really missed his cousin's lunches. He'd be happy even for an American breakfast, lunch, and dinner! He passed through the cafeteria and sat down in a chair burying his head into his arms. He could nap at least. Or try to. He groaned as the start of a nightmare began. No, no he wasn't remembering that day, no. He quickly snapped awake shaking slightly, he couldn't sleep. His racket was still in the clubhouse. Perhaps he could study for his history exam then. He pulled out a pencil in thought then began to jot down notes from the text. Only somehow, even though he was writing down facts and dates, he wasn't absorbing any of the info. He was to distracted. His pencil snapped half way through causing the teen to mutter curses under his breath as he scrounged for another one. Luckily he had a ball point pen in his bag. He needed more pencils too. He didn't know how he'd come up with enough yen. He bit his lower lip in thought, writing down more notes, wondering if what ad happened meant he was disqualified from the tournament. No matter, he had won many tournaments in America anyway. He was knee deep in study when he felt someone's eyes on him. He turned only to find kikumaru and Oishi staring at him.

"What" he asked clearly not in the mood.

"Shouldn't you be studying at night and not in school?" Oishi piped up questionativly, obviously trying to find out what was wrong with the team's youngest player.

"I was busy last night." Echizen quipped glaring at the Golden pair, "What is it you wanted anyway?"

"Why did you skip practice?" This time it was Kikumaru.

"Tezuka doesn't want me there."

"But why."

"You know why" Ryoma snapped his book shut placing it back into his bookbag as the area quickly filled up with students.

"But why did you-"

"That's none of your concern."

"But it is! You're our teammate!" Oishi cut in.

"Not anymore." Echizen spoke bitterly, "And I believe the bell rings in one minute so I've got to go." And with that he left.

It had only been 4 years since mother's death, 3 months since coming to Japan, 2 weeks since his cousin left to study abroad in America, and in 1 day he was supposed to be playing in his first official tennis tournament for Seigaku, but now he wasn't so sure if he wold be. His life was already a living hell.

* * *

><p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter guys, let me know if I should continue this fic =D<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Class was boring as usual, but Ryoma supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less. In English all he had to do was watch a video on changing verbs from past to present tense and vice versa then complete a ten question worksheet. He had nodded off once or twice finding the entire lecture boring beyond belief. _John will climb the tree or John will climbed the tree. _Gee that was oh so hard. He could barely stand that class and didn't understand why the school wouldn't allow him to take a free period in the library. He had asked before only to receive the whole spill on how English was so important and so on and so forth. So he was stuck with Mr. Boring. He was almost glad when the next teacher walked into the room, swinging her laptop back and forth with confident strides before slamming the computer on the desk and pulling out a pointing stick, almost. He had barely studied at all for social studies but at least he actually had to try at it.

Only they had a test that day. Somehow in the midst of watching silly cartoon characters on the television and listening to a man with a thick accent who could barely speak English himself describe the rules for normal verbs, he had forgotten all about his bi-weekly history quiz. Well what would one failed quiz amount to anyway? It's not like it would kill him to mess up just this once, and besides, when would he need to know about the bombardment of Kagoshima in real life? That was ages ago. He rummaged through his book bag for a pencil with a good eraser, listening half heartedly to the teacher explained what would happen to those caught cheating on the exam, cursing when he was unable to find one. The only pencil he could find was all but a stump. Damn it. The teacher had begun handing out papers by the time he sullenly picked up the black pen he had used in English class and set down his backpack. Not only did he not know anything, but now he could not erase anything. He instinctively reached up, only his hat wasn't there. There was nothing to cover his eyes with. He'd just have to grin and bear it.

He knew he had failed before the teacher had even instructed them to begin. And skimming over the questions only made his stomach do flip flops. _'How much money did Chargé d'Affaires demand from bakufu for the Namamugi outrage?' _ He didn't even know who d'Affaires was! He scratched his head then settled on chewing on the end of his pen. It kind of sounded like a French name. What currency did France use back then? Franks? He bit his pen harder rolling it between his teeth, but even if he had the currency right he didn't know the amount. He sighed in frustration, but upon noticing some of his classmates stares, decided it'd be best to keep quiet for the rest of the assessment. He didn't know the answer and he was going to tug his hair out if he kept it up. Maybe he should just try the next question then? He read over the subsequent question, then the next and the next, all the way to the essay question at the end, growing paler with each passing inquiry. He didn't know any of this! As much as he wanted to tell himself he didn't mind failing, he did mind failing. Failing meant a phone call home, and his cousin, his cousin wasn't there anymore. His hands grew sweatier with each passing second and he couldn't stop himself from looking up at the clock anxiously every few minutes. When was that date when they bombed that place? August, August something right? Was he really that dumb? He really was stupid. Just like his dad always said. He was a stupid retard. He finally settled on writing his name in neat kanji on the top of the paper, then left the whole thing blank. Tears threatened to emerge from the corners of his eyes but no, no he had to be strong. He couldn't let anyone else know something was wrong. Everyone was going to see he failed when their scores were posted up the next day anyway, why make it any worse?

He had been more relieved to hear the words _turn in your papers times up _then he had ever been before. Next was physical education. He stood up stiffly feeling his stomach scream in protest and his head hammer in alarm. He felt woozy, but that had never stopped him before. He needed to get to the locker-room swiftly, before all the toilet stalls filled up. He wondered what they'd be doing that day, basketball, baseball, tennis, judo? He hoped it would be something light and easy, maybe his stomach wouldn't riot so much if he didn't have to do anything besides a few yoga stretches. The teacher had barely collected the papers when Horio began showering him with senseless chatter he couldn't care less about. He was worse than Momo in many ways. The prince could only nod in the appropriate places as the seventh grade brown haired nuisance followed him all the way down the hall while he tried his best to ignore him. "…. And I've played tennis for two years…." Apparently he was giving him some sort of lecture on why he shouldn't quit the team, like he'd listen or care. He had enough to stress over without the annoying brat on his heels 24/7. And he was. He was stuck to him like glue, and Ryoma had little doubt that someone on the team had put him up to it.

Kato, Mizuno, and Horio had followed him into the locker room and had pestered him the entire way there. They wouldn't shut up and it was getting Echizen's nerves. He grated his teeth as he unlatched his combination lock and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweater for PE class. They were being too clingy for their own good. He somehow detached himself from the group by telling them he had to go to the restroom. He had no clue how he had even accomplished that much.

He could hear murmurs amongst the boys, something about a running day or other; perhaps they had heard they would be doing laps today. Echizen groined at the prospect. Someone snickered as he passed and more than one person grew silent as he walked by. Typical. They were already talking about his thievery, and getting the facts all wrong. He hadn't robbed a teller at knifepoint and he hadn't joined the Yakuza either. Ryoma wasn't much into locker room chatter, not near as much as Horio or Momoshiru. Everything was either inflated or a flat out lie to begin with. Someone gave him a nasty look causing the Ryoma to turn away and hide his head in shame, he supposed he deserved as much. He was a common criminal now.

Ryoma quickly slipped into a stall locking the door behind him, trying to change as fast as humanly possible. It didn't take long for someone to take a whiz and if he took too much time Horio would be on his tail. That boy was getting on his nerves. His pep talks weren't peppy, and he'd be better off buying a tabloid for his information then to listen to him gossip all day long. He fumbled around with the fasteners on his jacket and in his rush to pull off his school uniform accidently ripped off the top button—only he didn't notice that. He was too busy throwing on his gym clothes to care. He gathered up his uniform into a sloppy bundle in his arms, the smoothly made his way back to the group of freshmen by the lockers. Somehow he had managed to avoid getting seen for yet another day. All his teammates, no former teammates he reminded himself, were exceptionally clingy today. Didn't they know he was off the team and that he was probably never going to return? Why should they care anymore? He could never understand people; they didn't seem to care about his life at all before and now suddenly he was the object of everyone's attention just because of a petty theft? What gave? He leaned against a locker listening to Horio chatter for a few moments until the PE teacher came out to start class. Great even the PE teacher was sending him funny looks. Could today get any worse? For some reason he felt like running away, running far far away from all the stares. Everyone seemed to be blathering about him today, and he felt incredibly self conscious. He couldn't let anything slip at all, the pressure was getting to him.

It wasn't until roll call that he snapped.

"Sato" The teacher called out never looking away from his clipboard

"Here."

"Ito"

"Here"

"Echizen"

"Here" Ryoma paused noticing the room go silent all of sudden before several whispers and murmurs broke out, the instructor was still calling out names to a chorus of here's but it was hard to focus on that now. No, everyone was talking about him in hushed tones. As if he wasn't standing right there.

"_We don't need HIS kind at our school."_

"_Don't mess with him unless you want to get stabbed."_

"_I'm telling you he's nuts."_

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and tears began to well-up in his eyes, no no he had to be strong. He wasn't some lost puppy that could be kicked around. He tried to regain his composure and rapidly found himself more angered than saddened. Who were they to judge him? Who the fuck were they? They all had it easy! Come home to a loving mother, have plenty of money or homemade bentos for lunch, get new clothing and shoes and electronics like it were nothing. He would kill for that lifestyle again. He nearly made himself bleed his grip had gotten so tight, rich bastardly snobs is what they were. The whole lot of them. And no sooner than the teacher released them to do stretches, he was gone. He let the door slam behind him purposefully wondering what the other students would think. _'He's just an angry freak' 'He'll spend his whole life in prison' 'Don't mess with him' 'Someone's pmsing.' 'I bet he's a crack head' _He could imagine all the words they were saying at that very minute behind his back and somehow his body couldn't decide between anger and despair.

One way or another he found himself slumped against a wall in an unfamiliar part of the building, cursing the fact that he had locked his iPod and clothing up in his gym locker. "Great" he murmured sighing beneath his breath, he would have to return to the changing rooms and deal with _those _losers again he mused sarcastically, but even without music it was refreshing at least to sit outside in the cool breeze. He shut his eyes nodding off as the wind caressed him. Truancy, just another thing for his wrap-sheet. He chuckled almost bitterly, thievery, truancy, loitering, lying and soon, he paused feeling around for his cell phone. He needed to send a text message to Kevin- just to find out the number to an old pal. He wondered idly if Kevin even knew it, but shook those thoughts out of his mind; it was worth a shot at least. And so, he began typing in letters to his long lost buddy; messing up often as the keys slipped beneath his fingers. He was never good at texting, but it was cheaper than calling internationally. It wasn't long until he got a message back, his phone vibrated in his sweats not two seconds after he had sent the message out. He wanted to laugh for some reason. Kevin always had been a bit more tech savvy than he was. Using a cell-phone on compass during school hours, that's against the rules too, he chuckled to himself as he opened up his phone. Echizen was growing into quite the trouble maker.

It felt good reading through his friend's shenanigans; apparently he had been grounded for dancing on top of his desk in class. Ryoma realized he needed a good laugh and paused, Kevin was the only one who ever knew the truth. Kevin himself had an alcoholic parent and could relate. He probably knew he needed to relax and clam down—after all if you were looking for his number you really did need something to cheer you up. Even through the screen Echizen could tell Kevin was worried, he picked up the phone again and began typing what had been going on letting him know everything was ok, and that he merely wanted the number just in case. Kevin replied back letting him know that his life hadn't been any easier as of late and eventually they slipped into a steady texting conversation. By the end of their chat Ryoma was in a somewhat better mood, having long forgotten the jeers of his school mates to the familiar banter of his friend from the US. He was almost upset that the discussion had to stop. He slid his phone shut standing up and stretching. Fifteen minutes until lunch. Great, he sighed making his way to the locker room knowing that it'd be empty for another five minutes.

He had stealthily grabbed his clothes and changed just as the first signs of life entered the locker-room. He could hear the showers turning on and the familiar sounds of towel snapping and other teenage antics. He was out the door before anyone could see him. He wanted to hang out on the roof that day, and he hoped that the janitor had left the door unlocked. And he was lucky. He sighed as he slid open the door and climbed the narrow stairway to his favorite spot. The greenish haired boy sat down contentedly leaning against the outer fence, determined to restart the conversation he had been having earlier with Kevin. Ryoma could only sigh when Kevin texted back saying he had chores to do and that not doing them was not an option. The prince was rather bored but didn't want to be the reason Kevin got hurt back stateside. Echizen decided then that it'd be a good time to text his other _friend_, butfirst he had to think. What did he have? His mind raced a bit until he remembered something that he could use. Yeah that could work. He dialed in the number than waited for awhile, drumming his fingers against his knee while the answering machine picked up. He sighed until the man answered on the other side of the line.

"I want to play a game" Echizen spoke quickly in English, his hands gripping his pants nervously. Part of him was saying he should carry through with it, and part of him was telling him to run for the hills.

"What kind of game" came the creepy reply causing Ryoma to shudder a little, his palms accumulating sweat.

"S-singles"

"I'll pick you up at 6, bring balls."

"Ok" Ryoma hung up the phone, his hands jittering slightly then looked up to see Horio racing up the stairs. Great, he scowled slightly, who told him about this place?

"Echizen!"

"Hmm" he replied uninterestedly, already reaching into his backpack for a good book to ignore his classmate with, he found a familiar black novel in his bag and turned it to a random page near the end. He had already read through it, twice.

"Pay attention to me Echizen" Horio demanded trying to steal the book out of Ryoma's arms comically. He tugged and tugged but the former regular must have been a freight train or something because the book wouldn't budge. He actually turned the page mid pull!

"ANYWAY ECHIZEN!" Horio shouted into the young boy's ear as loudly as possible after giving up on extracting the book from Ryoma's hands, "Everyone is really worried and—Echizen!" Ryoma looked up to see the annoying brat's eyes as wide as saucers and several more people climbing up the stairs. He was almost happy when Horio backed off, almost.

"Echizen, WHERE DID YOU GET THAT BRUISE!" Horio recoiled, pointing, eyes wide, mouth agape. Ryoma sighed leaning further into the fence if that was possible, going back to reading his book as several familiar voices began barraging him.

"Ochibi!"

"Echizen-kun"

Someone was standing in front of him now, or crouching, Ryoma didn't particularly care until they started breathing down his face, "Can you guys just give me some space." He muttered flipping the page in annoyance.

"Ne Ochibi, where did you get that-"

"None of your business" Ryoma cut him off wishing he had a hat to block out the sun.

"Why aren't you eating Echizen" Momo this time, Ryoma scowled putting his book away and standing up to leave, "I'm not hungry."

He could hear murmurs amongst the crowd of regulars gathered on the roof, what was this intervention? International pick on Ryoma day? The Academy for not minding your own business? He chuckled at his own sarcastic inner musings causing his former team mates to give him funny looks.

"Are you ok Ochibi?"

"Just peachy" he laughed noticing the odd looks on his team mates faces, "Gomen, American expression. Just fine." He chuckled trying to walk past the crowd but being blocked by Kawamura who looked far too serious prompting Echizen to look down to see if he was holding a racquet. He wasn't, but there was still that gleam in his eye. Ryoma backed off stumbling into Oishi, "Gomen gomen I uh—"

"Who did this to you Echizen!" Oishi shouted making Ryoma's ears ring.

"N-no one"

"Stop lying and tell me who it is so I can pound their face in!" Momo chimed in his hands balled into a fist of rage.

"No one I said!" Ryoma shouted as he made his way back to his sitting corner, sulking. It'd be a hell of a lot easier if they could go about living their OWN lives for once.

"Not hungry, if my data is correct there is a 90% chance that Ryoma's lunch money was stolen." Inui cut in having just opened the door to the roof.

"How did you get here!" Momo jumped up pointing his fingers, "You've been listening in on us haven't you! What did you do put cameras up across the school or something?"

"Although I would do anything in the name of data, the application I handed into the principal for video surveillance was rejected. I was listening in through the door."

"You hear that guys" Momo laughed, "Watched out seigaku has a stalker!"

"Very funny, I will make sure to let Tezuka know—"

"Never mind, your no fun you know that?"

"One doesn't have to be fun to play good tennis."Inui smirked, "I was just on my way to harvest a special mold for my newly formulated juice when I overheard you guys talking."

"New juice?" practically everyone chimed in, "Mold?"

"Now if you can excuse me you can carry on with what you were talking about." The data player adjusted his glasses walking over to a little box on the other side of the roof.

"Weird" Eijji shuddered before enthusiastically grabbing onto Echizen, "Tell me who did it so I can wring their neck!"

"No one I said, for the last time!"

"Then how did you get it," the red head waved his finger back in forth in front of his face while crouching down to his level, Ryoma tried to ignore him but found it hard when there was a wicked grin plastered all over his sempais face. Great this was going to go over well.

"It was just some person ok, um"

"Bingo!"

"Ai, Data"

"I don't know their name" Echizen finished sighing.

"Oh" Eiji paused rubbing his chin, "What did they look like.

"Didn't see"

"Stop lying"

"Maybe Echizen is scared because he's being blackmailed" the usually quite Kato replied somewhat timidly.

"Here" Fuji sat down next to Echizen handing over a few containers from his bento lunch. "You can tell us when you're ready then. Just know whoever that bully is, is going to get it."

"Um thanks" Ryoma replied happily breaking apart a set of chopsticks and digging into a plate of shrimp. Too bad for him it was all covered in wasabi sauce.

"Eck Fuji sempai this stuff is too hot!" Ryoma cried his eyes watering, "Water water water!" He had snot running down his nose by the time someone was kind enough to toss over a water bottle, and eventually Momo stopped laughing like an idiot.

"You can have some of my lunch" Kawamura cut in smiling and unwrapping his bento box, "Dad always packs to much fish for me, take some."

Not being one to reject an offer, especially for food, and especially since he hadn't had breakfast, Echizen grabbed a roll, then another, and another. His mouth was stuffed and people kept asking him questions. He couldn't shovel it in fast enough. He had to eat as much as possible because there wasn't even so much as instant ramen back home.

"So uh Echizen why did you cut gym" Horio fidgeted nervously, "People were talking you know?"

"Just felt like it" Ryoma sighed stuffing more fish into his mouth, "allergies make it hard to run."

"Ai data" Inui popped up from hiding, "What kind of allergies Echizen, "if you don't mind me asking."

"You skipped class ochibi!"

"Don't cut classes Echizen!"

Ryoma crammed down a few more morsels swallowing thickly before guzzling the rest of his water and wiping his chin with his sleeve, "Hay fever" he paused trying to figure out how to make this lie more believable, "I usually take over the counter medicine but I guess this school has some policy or something and I can't find the forms."

"Ai" Inui scribbled down a few notes, "No wonder your eyes are somewhat swollen, my data concluded it was either due to lack of sleep at 50%, allergies at 27% and illness at 22% or other miscellaneous factors at a probability of 1%" he was soon mumbling streams of numbers no one understood and jotting down more notes. "This would also account for your decreased performance during the last few practices."

Echizen burped reaching over and grabbing a rice ball with his chopsticks, "I'm not on the team any more so I don't see why you should care." He spoke offhandedly grabbing still more food.

"Tezuka placed you on temporary suspension," Inui adjusted his glasses, "There's an 80% chance you'll be on the team in a week or less."

"Oh" Ryoma paused and kept eating more and more until the box was completely empty. Only he didn't notice until everyone was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"I'm sorry sempai" Ryoma spoke softly only to have the power player ruffle his hair and grin.

"You must be on a growth spurt Echizen, I'll just go get something from the cafeteria." Kawamura pulled away before opening the door, presumable to get some grub. The tennis players soon began to chitchat while Ryoma's eyes slowly drooped shut unable to stave off sleep any longer. He really hadn't gotten much sleep that night he realized. He was quickly running out of steam.

But sleep couldn't last long enough. It was a mere ten minutes later when Horio woke him up by shaking him like a cheap maraca. His vision was blurry and he rolled back over sleepily muttering something incomprehensible as he attempted to drift off again, only, the other freshmen wouldn't allow that. He could hear Mizuno yelling at him, but he wasn't sure if the yelling was just his dream. He blinked stretching looking around noticing he was on the school roof. Right. He sighed picking up his book bag and dusting off his trousers, splendid next was math class, and he hadn't even done his homework for that class and it was taught by that old women. He yawned stretching his arms over his head down the hallway as Horio went on and on about something or other—complaining the Echizen had made them late. Ryoma could care less of course, he had already skipped gym what was a few minutes of math?

The tennis prodigy shuffled into class just in time, and made his way to his usual seat next to Sukuno in the back of the class. He sighed in relief upon noticing a substitute teacher, then in frustration upon noticing the chalk board up front.

_Pop Quiz: Chapter 5.2 Review_

He wanted to bang his head against his desk until he fell unconscious. That would be one missed class, two failed tests, and a missing homework assignment on the same day!

He could hear a few rumors circulating about his thievery but pushed them down to the back of his mind, let them think what they wanted. They were just a bunch of snobs anyway. He noticed Sakuno fidgeting in her chair as usual before she seemed to find the words to say, opening her mouth than shutting it again. He would never quite understand how a girls mind worked. If she wanted to say something, why not just say it? He pondered for awhile wondering why Tezuka hadn't kicked him off for good when something dawned on him.

His eyes widened slightly, math couldn't be done in pen!

He searched desperately but again only came up with a stump; the test regulations were already starting to be explained when he eventually sat back in his chair in defeat. He could do some of it in pen but then none of the work would count anyway so why try? He grabbed the paper from out of the young subs hands looking down at the problems. Just a bunch of Pythagorean Theorem work, and he was actually good at that! Sometimes he swore god was not on his side at all. He grew bored after awhile of staring at the clock and eventually started solving a few problems in ink. Maybe Ryuzaki would be kind toward him. Pfft as if, the old lady hated him.

So if A is equal to 4 and C is equal to 60 then B must be equal to, he groaned scratching out a few multiplication problems then tried to find a squire root.

Then the phone rang. It was very unusual for the phone to ring in the middle of class much less during a test. The substitute scurried over picking up the device and saying a few _ai's _before she looked around the classroom searching for someone and hung up.

"Echizen Ryoma, Echizen" She paused noticing as the greenish haired boy raised his hand in boredom, "Ryuzaki wishes to speak to you." She alerted, "Room 309 in the 3rd year's hall".

Suddenly a chorus of whispers broke out, and then some of the braver kids began to mock him, as if he didn't already know he was in for it. He could already imagine Dr. Jackle and Mr. Hide waiting for him. Tezuka and the old women. Close enough. He scowled wondering what she could possibly want. Did she know? His mind raced, what if they called and his dad was drunk? He tried to calm himself down but he was nervous; his hands fiddling so much that he had to stuff them down his pockets. No no no they couldn't know. He listened to the _"Someones in trouble!" "What did I tell you prison material" _and a variety of othertaunts as he left the class, wondering what she wanted. Wondering if she knew.

His steps were deliberately slow as he dredged up to the third floor for his talk with the coach. Had she ordered a substitute just so she could talk to him? This did not settle well with his stomach and he almost heaved all the food Takashi had so generously given him earlier. Boy was he in for it. He timidly opened the door knob to room 309 before hearing a curt, "Have a seat Ryoma." Coach Ryuzaki was always curt, he reminded himself, nothing to get worked up over. He tensely walked over to the stiff chair then plopped himself down, palms sweaty and brow moistened with worry.

"I heard you stole from the sporting goods store" she sighed sitting back in her chair with her hands meshed together resting against her chin, "What I want to know is why."

"I um" Ryoma paused, this was hard, lying to a fellow student was one thing but a teacher was a whole new ball game, "I kind of just wanted to see if I could. Gomen. I, I was stupid."

Ryuzaki frowned, her eyes creased into a calculating gaze, noting the way the freshmen couldn't relax. He must've felt extremely bad about it if it left him in such a state. "Just don't do it again." She reprimanded leaning back further into her chair as if making herself appear relaxed would ease Ryoma, "As punishment you will pick up balls for the next three practices, do you understand?"

"Ai" Echizen paused looking down ashamed, "I'm sorry."

"And I have arranged for you to work for an hour at the shop to make up for your thievery."

"Ai"

"You're a good kid Echizen, don't do something so stupid."

"Ai" Echizen paused trying to calm his breathing down to hold back his frustration and tears, "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Good" The old lady sighed grabbing a pen, "you are hereby reinstated to the team" she paused, "And Ryoma who gave you that bruise?"

"A bully" he uttered clenching his teeth together, "I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure" the women sighed, "It would be easier if you told me."

"No I'll take care of it" Ryoma emphasized again, "Is that all?"

"No," she smiled, "actually I want you to explain to me why you failed you social studies test so badly earlier today."

"Didn't study" Ryoma admitted apathetically, "Better stuff to do. Videogames, TV, Tennis—"

"No excuse" Ryuzaki exhaled deeply shaking her head, "Honestly what am I going to do with you? You're father said he was going to ground you but I don't know if that would be enough."Unfortunately Ryuzaki did not notice Ryoma's flinch. Dad was going to be pissed raving mad. He'd be lucky if he didn't get more bruises on his face. "Anyway you can go back to class now."

Echizen stood up and left, not letting a tear fall down his face until he left. Dad was going to, dad was—He tried to stop himself from thinking about it but he couldn't. It had been a long time since he'd suffered a real beat down, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Ryoma no longer felt like going to math class. He was sobbing like a baby and would be too embarrassed to return. And soon enough he found himself back on top of the roof. His favorite spot. Ever since he was a kid he was fascinated by heights. He raced up the stairs then stood up by the edge of the roof, letting his hands cling to the chain link fence as he stared out. His fingers gripping the cold steel so hard that they started to chafe. But that was okay. Sometimes he was contented in just looking out as far as possible, and sometimes he liked to watch other people. He wished his life was like the student down below who was talking on his cell phone, or the one who he could see studiously writing down notes in a classroom far away. And sometimes, sometimes he wished that he could fly, fly far far away. Or at least jump, jump right off the roof to heaven. But he was too cowardly for that. He clenched the wires tightly then climbed up a foot or so, his hand slipped causing him to gasp. And he was still, still such a coward. He exhaled loudly, deciding his time was better spent napping if he was too chicken to even carry through with a simple suicide.

And so, he curled up quickly nodding off, dreaming of throwing himself under a train. If only, if only. He didn't notice the hours fly by, until the bell rang signaling the end of school entirely. He woke up immediately. Shit. He had completely slept through not only the rest of math, but science and Japanese literature as well! He was screwed. How many phone calls was that?

Then a few moments later his phone alarm went off. Alarm, he wondered idly, why would his alarm. He turned it off wondering who had pulled such a prank on him before realization dawned on him. LIBRARY DAY! What a relief, that meant he'd get out of practice, which meant no Tezuka. He smiled brightly at the thought as he withdrew his hat from out of his bag.

He had almost forgotten that today was library day. Thursday, library day. He was glad. He placed his cap back over the top of his head, shielding his eyes from the sun and well just about everything and everyone. Horio and crew had tennis practice and maybe they'd finally be out of his hair. No one would know it by the looks of him, but Ryoma loved the library. The smell of fresh ink, and mildew from aging bound paper about ready to fall apart at its seams. Or perhaps the smell of fresh plastic and type print, new books he could practically taste. The steady tap tap tap of students typing up various assignments on the schools computers. The hum of the old light bulbs flickering on and off without reason. The sensation of breaking open a new book and hearing the spine crack, or the way leather and parchment felt against his fingers. The way each page new or old melded into the next and brought him to a different world where his problems did not exist. Yes the library was one of his favorite spots.

He couldn't wait to find solace in the comfort of a good book. Especially today, lord knows he needed the distraction. He still had to retrieve his racket before Tezuka locked the clubhouse back up, a prospect he was dreading and would put off.

He stepped into the dingy lit room relishing in the silence and the familiarity of it, dropping his bag on a random table and walking behind the check-out desk-despite the warning sign telling students not to go beyond the line -knocking on the door to the catalogers' room. He didn't mind volunteering at the library, no not one bit. The middle aged man was cheerful, telling Ryoma that he had ordered a few more books that were printed in English just for him, going on about how it was refreshing to see a youth so interested in books—and not just magna. Eventually he wheeled over the cart to the front desk; the cart heaping full of stacks upon stacks of novels, mangas, magazines, and reference books that needed to be placed back on the shelves. Ryoma could only smirk as he fished his MP3 player from out of his pocket and placed the buds in his ears, turning the volume to low, letting himself daydream with some random song with a good beat in the background. The man went back to his papers at his desk inside the backroom, signing slips, probably late fees the tennis prodigy mused as he pushed the cart toward the rows and rows of bookshelves and began the somewhat daunting task of returning each book to its rightful spot. Only it wasn't daunting to Echizen, it was relaxing. It gave him an excuse to do nothing but something for the next hour and a half before he fetched his racquet.

He walked the aisles studying the last names carefully and every so often rearranged the titles of a few novels that some careless student had mixed up. His stack he was pushing around grew smaller and smaller and somehow he was half putting away the literature, and half perusing the literature as well. He couldn't stop himself from snagging quick glances at the summaries of the books he was putting away. Especially when the few rare gems of English books passed his gaze. _Huckleberry Fin_, that was an ok book, _Gulliver's Travels _that was a hilarious read. He even knew a fare number of the Japanese titles, although his Japanese was not up to par with his English admittedly. It was something he had long ago resolved to work on. He had been homeschooled in reading and writing kanji as a child but ever since mom died—his hands shook mid-step and he nearly tripped over his own two feet. No he would not think about that. He placed another book onto the self, then another in rapid succession. As if acting like a speed racer would erase the images that had somehow crept into his mind. The images he wanted to be erased. He only slowed down a few moments later upon grasping yet another familiar read. He had quite enjoyed that book.

His mind wondered to the day he had found it. Yeah, his cousin had recommended it to him after he had complained of not knowing any good Japanese books to read. At first he couldn't make heads or tails of it, but over time he came to love it. That paperback was the first in a series of books that he had actually found curiosity in. It had an interesting prose, and plot that's for sure. He wondered who had checked it out. He slowly gripped a few hardbacks from the pile, and then went back to his usual pace.

Ryoma had read a lot of the books he was putting away he realized. It was one thing he really enjoyed doing when he wasn't practicing tennis or studying for exams. He should probably return his last book, _Twilight_, he contemplated; nodding his head back and forth to the rhythm of a familiar tune as he placed yet another memorable novel back into place. He had asked the librarian for an English copy of the book after discovering it was so popular back in the states. The librarian obliged happily and within the week had a copy of the book in the schools possession. Ryoma sighed, wondering when he had become so close to the middle aged bookworm, then grinned. Oh well, at least he always got the books he wanted. For some reason he had the urge to pick up another classic today, perhaps _Camelot_? He had never read _Camelot._ He wondered if they even had it. He was about to reach over to grab another book off the cart to put away only to realize, to his horror, that the stack was gone. He was sorely tempted to toss random books from off the shelf onto the cart so that he could continue putting stuff away. Yet, he knew it was getting late and that the clubhouse would be getting locked up soon. He had to go. As much as he hated it, he had to. He gripped the handles of the cart hard making his knuckles turn white as he wheeled it over behind the front desk and turned off his music player. The cataloger could only grin as he marked down more volunteer hours for his beloved Echizen and began filling out his customary excuse note for the tennis team. Somehow Echizen managed to unearth his checked out paperback from the depths of his school bag and before long a very weathered ancient book was placed into his hands. _Camelot_. It must have been printed before World War Two! It was covered in dust, and held that musty smell that old books held. He loved it already.

Tezuka was already gone by the time he entered the locker room, he had left the keys to vice captain Oiishi, having ran out of patience. Oishi was getting a long drink from the fountains far from the rest of the team. Apparently Inui's latest concoction was worse than anything he had made before, as evidenced by the numerous knocked out team mates strewn across the changing room floor. None of his other drinks could K.O. a person this long. Ryoma could only chuckle as he stepped over them to get his racquet. He had escaped the mold.

Of course Ryoma would normally walk home and lock himself up, or walk around until dad passed out, or have Momo bike him home and sneak off, but today was different. Today he had someone to meet on the other side of the city. He gripped his bag tightly walking back to his house with a mission. A tournament ring, how much Yen could he get with one of those? They were 14k gold and one of a kind after all.

* * *

><p>:) Let me know what you think and if anyone is willing to beta this PM me please! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!<p>

:/ Whats up with you people do you all hate me? Over 100 hits and 0 reviews on this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Echizen stepped through the door taking off his shoes and setting down his bag. "Tadaima" he muttered to no one in particular noting his father sprawled out on the couch in his monk uniform with an undoubtedly perverted magazine in his hands. Dad wasn't drunk. Which was a good thing. Well maybe.

"Okaeri" his father spoke cheerfully, licking his finger and turning the page.

And so Echizen climbed up the stairs to his room sorting through his clothes and looking for something decent enough to wear. Problem was most of his clothing was dirty. He settled on sniffing an old long sleeved shirt and some jeans and upon noticing there wasn't a foul stench, slipped it on. He only had one clean pair of underwear left and his hat was getting rather grimy as well. He defiantly needed to run his clothing through the wash. He wasn't sure how to do laundry. He bit his lip in thought, there was a place that you could dump clothes and pay to have them cleaned, dried and folded right? That's what his dad had done in America at least. Did his school uniform have to be dry-cleaned? And how much money would that be? He exhaled loudly pulling off his sweaty socks and grabbing a clean set.

He was half way through putting on his socks when he heard a small rapt on his the door, he sighed resigning himself to his fate. He should have known he wouldn't be getting out of this scotch free. Dad was going to have some sort of talk with him over his truancy and theft and who knows what else. He quickly slipped on his footwear than unlatched the door waiting for the yelling to begin.

"Ryoma?" his father questioned softly, stepping into his son's sanctuary with utmost caution.

"Hmm" he sighed sitting back down in his bed and staring down at his knees. Dad was going to be mad, and tell him to move out, or get a job, and say he was a loser and and, he just couldn't take it. He swallowed back a hiccup letting his body involuntary wobble a bit. He was such a disappointment, to everyone.

"Ryoma look at me" his father demanded staring intently until the Prince met his gaze, "I know you know why I'm here so spill."

"Spill what?" Ryoma questioned, immediately regretting his choice of words, "I mean what is it that you want to know. Why I did it or—"

"Just tell me everything." His father sighed, "Did you do it for attention, or are you involved in a gang?"

"I uh just wanted to see if I could" he murmured, "Gomen I-"

"Don't give me that bullshit!," his father spit out, "I'm such an idiot sometimes I know that Ryoma, but I wasn't born yesterday!"

"I just didn't have any money" Ryoma spoke quietly afraid to look into his father's eyes—knowing there would be disappointment, anger, resentment there.

"Oh so that makes it ok to steal?" his father bit out waving his arms madly, "I don't have enough money for those fancy cell phones with all the internet access and stuff but you don't see me tucking them under my robes and walking out of the store!"

"G-gomen" he spoke shaking slightly, looking down at his hands as if they were suddenly the center of the universe.

"This is about something else isn't it! I bet you did it to get child services at our doorstep. You think you're so smart don't you. Want to put your old man in jail don't you! I'll put you back in America now!"

"N-no, I I was just" Echizen shook trying to get his words out between sobs trying to think up a believable lie, "I-I was just trying t-to I was hungry and—"

"Hungry?" His father questioned calming down, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "I have been eating out a lot lately, don't you have lunch money?"

"No, I uh, I ask but you keep sleeping and and I don't know wh-where your wallet is and I didn't want to take food cuz then the cops might—"

"I see" Nanjaro spoke calmly, his legs crossed over each-other, resting his hand in his arms in thought, "All right then. We'll just tell the old hag that bullshit lie you spouted off the first time. Curiosity killed the cat or whatever. If anyone asks you're grounded for two weeks" his father looked up calculatingly, "Yes that will work, got it?"

"Hai" the tennis prodigy paused rubbing his eyes. In all truth he just wanted to sleep.

"Did I give you that bruise Ryoma?"

"Hai"

And somehow silence engulfed the room threatening to strangle its occupants. The seventh grader felt awkward and shifted in his seat, wondering if he was excused. Only these thoughts were somehow interrupted.

"I'm sorry Ryoma." His dad at last uttered gently, pulling out his wallet. "Go get yourself some ramen, or sushi, or burgers, or whatever you want." He smiled ruffling his hair causing Ryoma's breath to hitch. He never meant it. There was no point in feeling happy. Dad would just crush him next time he drank. It was always worse when you weren't expecting it. "I'll go get some groceries soon, there should be enough leftover money there to get a decent breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Just pick up a couple bentos from a gas station or something."

Ryoma paused taking the large sum of money hesitantly, "Okay, I was uh wondering um, do you have money to uh wash my uniforms. It just my clothes, ever since—"

"Oh" Nanjaro interrupted fishing a handful of coins from his pockets, "Here, we have some soap under the sink. Wash the whites separately from the blacks. And the colored stuff, I was never quite good at that, uh just wash it together in cold water I guess."

"Arigato" Ryoma smiled getting up from bed and stuffing the cash in his pockets, tossing a bunch of seemingly random clothing that was spewed all over his floor into a duffle bag while his father went down stairs. The greenish haired boy could only sigh; dad was probably making a bee line for the sake. He shuffled around grabbing a small box from inside his dresser and tossing it into his bag. He had a picture of it. He really didn't need it.

* * *

><p>He stood gripping the railing inside the crowded train bored out of his mind, his headphones firmly planted in his ears to block out the sound of a hundred different conversations, his foot tapping to the rhythm of the music blaring from his mp3 player impatiently. He had been sitting at the start of his trip, but then some old geezer had to show up and steal his chair. He hated this time of day in Tokyo. Everyone was getting out of their offices and all the public transport in the area was jammed packed. Not only that but the train was stopping to unload and load passengers at each and every stop every two freaking blocks! Or at least it seemed that way. To say he was irritated would be an understatement. Eventually he made it to his stop and pushed his way through the crowd to exit. He hated it.<p>

He turned down the volume to his music player than quickly made his way over to a nearby alley. This was the spot right? He sat down on the ground leaning against a brick wall pulling out his cell phone to read the text over again. Yes this was the spot. He shifted nervously grabbing the small box from inside his laundry bag, and somehow he found himself regretting even coming. Dad had given him money and he didn't need to deal with this. Yet, pissing them off was probably not the wisest idea, and who knew if dad would actually get groceries. And so he snapped his phone shut, turned up his jams, closed his eyes and leaned against the wall contentedly. They were usually pretty prompt right? He had no clue really, it was his first time dealing with this guy. He was a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin of a friend or something. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. All he knew is that his old friend gave him this number as the right number. He wondered if he was even any good. Somehow he fell asleep against the wall. He had been sleeping everywhere as of late.

"Hey kid."

"Hey, hey kid"

"Five more minutes I" Ryoma rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Oh um hello" he smiled nervously snapping out of his daze upon noticing a rather tall buff teenager. "Do you like tennis?"

"Did you bring the ball?"

"Yeah" he felt his jean pocket once more to be sure, "Did you bring the racquets."

"Of course, there in my car I'll take you to the uh courts" the older teen smiled.

"Sure thing" Echizen smiled getting up groggily trying to readjust his eyes to being used, yet the boy didn't say anything further; Ryoma just followed him to his car in another dingy alley. Only there were five or six boys here. He could see at least one of them had a wooden sword and who knew what other weapons they had hidden. Yes defiantly not the type of people to piss off.

"This the customer?" a boy asked flinging what Ryoma assumed was a cigarette into the concrete below his feet, stamping it out and twisting it into the ground with an expensive set of shoes, "He sure is a runt ain't he?"

"I-I'm just here to sell my ring" Echizen spoke uncomfortably.

"That ring some rich person gave you after you won the tournament last year, we'll give you 40,000 yen for it." Another boy stepped out from behind a dumpster.

"What? That's a rip off. The pawn shop would offer more."

"Hey keep it down", someone interrupted, "as leader of this clan I think I can negotiate." The man clothed in a dark leather overcoat, top-hat, and sun glasses stepped forward looking Ryoma up and down, "What's some scrawny little brat doing here."

"I offered forty-thousand," the other teen explained, "he thinks that's a low bid."

"Here's how it is kid," the leader began talking down to the greenish haired boy, "I run a business. Businesses must turn a profit to be viable. You're trying to eat into my profit. I got it—"the twenty something year old man suddenly snapped as if he'd found the cure to end HIV, "I'll give you forty-thousand yen and something from the back of the truck anything you want."

"Like what?" Ryoma asked confused.

"If you accept you'll know, if you don't we can always arrange to just take the ring from you. Take your pick." The leader smirked as his henchman surrounded him showing off some of their weapons. A baseball bat, a wooden sword, a switchblade, a hatchet, "You're a smart kid aren't you?"

"H-hai" Echizen backed up slowly, "I accept"

"Good, good, hand it over." And he did, watching keenly as the hooded men gathered around the trinket whistling.

"Man whoever gave the brat this object sure is filthy rich" one of the boys in a black jacket snickered, "Are those diamonds?"

"I'd say it's a 20 karat stone at least" A shorter boy spoke up looking at the ring through a microscope, "Not too shabby". Somehow the ring had made it into the hands of each of the boys before arriving safely in the hands of the leader once more.

"Deal" the man spoke reaching out his hand to shake, an offer which Echizen begrudgingly took. It felt weird knowing he was making a deal with a crook.

To say Ryoma was nervous would be the understatement of the century; he was literally shaking with fear as the armed thugs lead him to another place, blindfolded no less. They were man handling him, shoving him from spot to spot. He was pushed into some sort of vehicle he knew that much and they had driven for ten or so minutes before the car stopped. And he was scared. Scared that he had just been kidnapped by a group of thugs. Scared to death. He heard the men unlocking something and the jiggling of chains. Eventually he found himself being lifted up making his heart rate pound at a rate of no less than ten thousand beats per minute,

"Where here kid, welcome to the candy shop" the familiar voice rang, "You still a virgin? I can set you up with a hooker."

"I uh no thanks" Ryoma frowned smelling something weird in the air, "Can I uh see now?"

"Oh yeah, sorry kid" Another voice chimed unraveling the cloth around his eyes. Ryoma frowned noting that he was in some sort of dim room, "We got prostitutes, some stolen electronics, instruments, drugs, booze—"

"Hey the chibi plays tennis right?" another teen interrupted, "Ever think about using steroids, we got 'em cheap, six free doses for you little man."

"No, no they probably test him for that sort of crap. What he needs is a fake prescription and some narcotics. Hey where's the good doc?"

"He's taking a smoking break stupid, like always" a girl's voice this time, only Ryoma couldn't quite make out her figure in the darkened room or whatever it was. "You sure you don't want a good fuck?"

"I-I'm fine really guys. I'll just take the forty-thousand."

"Hey hey, are you saying are stuff ain't good enough boy? Better show some respect or the king might just drive by your house."

"Ok, ok. Get me a prescription for something then" Ryoma backed away scared, "Anything."

"Hey doc!"

"What is it?" A gruff voice asked as a short stubby balding man stepped in from a door that led who knows where. "Oh great, another customer."

"You want to pay back your debt or not. Find something wrong with him."

"Sure sure." The man hobbled around giving Ryoma the once over thoughtfully, "Any cough, congestion, sore throat, headache, lethargy, vomiting, allergies? Maybe ADHD, can you focus in class?"

"Uh I don't have any of those problems—" Ryoma looked around noting the boxes upon boxes of stuff.

"Pain, how about pain"

"Uh no, not really."

"You sure that's a pretty nasty bruise you got."

"Hai"

"Making this hard on purpose" the man grumbled pulling out a box of cigars, "Want one?"

"I don't smoke."

"Why aren't you the epiphany of good health." The man sneered, "How about depression, you depressed?"

"Uh does dreaming about death count?" Ryoma asked not liking where this was going, wanting to leave as soon as he could.

"Hai, You tired all day?"

"Yeah I guess"

"Well there you go, let's set him up with some happy pills."

"Just like that?"

"What do I look like a doctor?" the man asked exasperatedly, "My shift at the clinic starts in an hour boy's, I should probably wash up", the man spoke while he jotted down a note for Ryoma, "There you go one prescription that'd be 10,000 Yen." The man spoke reaching out his hands.

"He's on the house, boss will reimburse you."

"Tsk tsk, another poor sap getting placed into this filthy establishment. What they put you up to pretty boy. You'd be the first male harlot, but hey maybe that's what business needs."

"We're not putting him up to anything doc, it's part of his deal."

"Deal? Dealing with these people at such a young age. Well more power to ya." The man laughed lighting up his cigar, "Just one more smoke before I go over to that place where I have to tell people not to smoke."

"That's doc for you, more smoke in his lungs than a chimney." Someone snickered, by now Ryoma had given up keeping track of who was saying what.

"Oh shut up," the man paused tapping his cigar against some sort of table, letting the ashes scatter, I only got eighteen million more yen to go and I'm free."

"I'm confused" Ryoma muttered as he stuffed the note into his pocket, "Well I guess I'll go now."

"What why not stay boy? Take a few shots of vodka and make friends with the ladies." The _'doctor'_ laughed cheerfully, "Once you start buying stuff from these guys you're bound to get entangled in their trap. You just walked yourself straight into the spider's web."

"Sorry, not interested."

"I like you boy." The man smirked taking in another drag of cigar smoke which by now was making Ryoma's eyes water, "Just take that into any pharmacy and they'll squire you away. We don't keep pills here."

"Um thanks" the seventh grader frowned, "Can I leave or—" Ryoma questioned picking up his bag, and no sooner had he asked did they arrive to drag him away. Blindfold in tow.

"Keep this secret you hear kid, no ratting us out or it's your head."

"Hai"

* * *

><p>He stepped into the shop aloofly, relishing in the cool air. He defiantly needed to write a letter of gratitude to whoever had invented the AC. He could already see sweat stains developing on his jacket. He supposed that's why people wore short sleeves in the summer. Well at least normal people. He wasn't exactly normal. He wasn't even so sure if he knew what normal was any more. Was it normal to have to ask three different people where a laundry washing place was on the train? Was it normal not to know the word for laundry washing place is Laundromat?<p>

He walked over to some sort of counter noticing a bunch of senior citizens sorting, ironing, and folding freshly cleaned apparel and sat down his bag. He could hear the buzzing and tumbling, swishing and rustling of clothes as they spun through the machines that cleaned and dried them. Dryers? This place must have been fancy. No one had dryers in Japan. The place smelt a lot like lavender and a mix of other fragrances, it was almost dizzying. Ryoma had to thank god. He must have smelt like a mixture of sweat and smoke. He tilted his hat down for no particular reason than unzipped his bag sorting his clothing into piles. He concentrated as best he could, placing all his black school uniform pants and jackets in one heap, his white undershirts and underwear in another heap, his blue tennis uniforms and jeans in another, and lastly socks and towels in yet another. He was left with a pile of haphazard mixed colored t-shirts and sweaters that he didn't know quite how to sort out.

Did reds and yellows go together, or in different containers? He scratched his head in thought. There was something about light colors and dark colors that his cousin talked about all the time. He tried his best to remember but his mind could only come up blank. Maybe if he hadn't been so absorbed in tennis, maybe if he actually took the time to learn. He wanted to kick himself. He knew things would go back to the way they were, why hadn't he prepared? Why had he gotten so comfortable?

"Whatever" he finally spoke in English causing everyone to look at him weirdly, he played around with his cap once more then inserted a few coins into the machine. He pushed the start button, then sat back watching as the machine ran cool water into the tub distractedly, "So is it a full cup of powder per load or a quarter or…" he continued in English, looking the soap box over for instructions then upon noticing the basin had almost filled up, decided to just wing it—dumping in detergent until he saw a few suds floating around. He walked back over to the counter grabbing a stack of black school uniforms and crammed it into the wash as best he could, maybe he should have used the larger washer? He shut the lid and crossing his fingers, hoping he wouldn't break it with so many garments, "Perhaps I should stop while I'm ahead." He mumbled once again earning stares from the elderly persons in the room. Was he speaking English again? He really needed to break that habit.

Ryoma loaded up a few more machines and finally settled on just putting everything he didn't know how to sort into one machine. After all, what was the worst that could happen? This one, unlike the others, was a front loading machine and he had fun trying to figure out how to get the thing started. It took him a good five minutes to realize one of his shirts was in the way and making it not shut right. He felt like an idiot shortly thereafter.

At first he had fun watching his multi-colored shirts spin around in circles, but there was only so much of that he could take. He walked over behind the folding table to where the other people were waiting. There was a stack of out of date magazines and newspapers, a couple vending machines, a trash can, and a few rows of bright orange hard plastic chairs. Hard plastic chairs, why did places like this always have hard plastic super uncomfortable chairs? It was going to take a half hour at least to wash his clothes and an hour to dry them! His back already felt sore as it was.

He sat down sighing grabbing an old copy of some sports magazine or other in the hopes that it had at least one tennis article. However all it had was martial arts and boxing. This might help him when they had Judo in PE but it was rather boring overall. He flipped through the pages looking at the pictures. A bunch of guys hitting each other, and that was a sport? The tennis prodigy sat the periodical down tiredly after a few minutes of reading, and then extracted his cell phone out of his pocket. This thing had some sort of puzzle game on it right?

He spent the next few minutes mindlessly shooting colored dots into strings of three and found it quite amusing. He had almost conquered all the red dots when suddenly a blue dot blocked his path to victory. He just about forgot his laundry completely—but it somehow clicked—nearly a half hour later. He rubbed his eyes sleepily before standing up to put all his clothes into the dryer. Why did the drier cost twice as much as the washer? He frowned, he didn't have enough money! Well maybe the blue clothes and black stuff could go together, the white by themselves, and the towels and other stuff in the last dryer? He had no clue. He tossed them all in, in some weird configuration, than sighed. The timers read seventy minutes; the first one was loaded ten minutes ago. Sixty minutes was enough time to nap right?

* * *

><p>The trip home had been rather uneventful. He had stopped by a gas station and picked up a bento lunch, and a several packages of instant ramen. He figured he could eat the bento tomorrow at the match, and the noodles when he got home or whenever. Instant noodles were cheap and he was able to afford twelve packages along with his prepackaged lunch. He even had a fair amount of leftover bills. He shuffled the stuff in his arms, trying to stay balanced with his clothes slung over one end and his plastic bag full of food slung over the other. He wasn't even sure what was in his bento. He had picked up what was cheapest on the shelf.<p>

Somehow the trip back was faster than the trip there, probably because rush hour was over. He had just gotten off the train and was on the last leg of his journey when his phone went off. Maybe Kevin was calling? He stepped off to the side leaning against an apartment complexes rusty chain link fence for support, then grabbed his phone from out of his jeans. The tennis star really wasn't that great with gadgets and such. He fumbled with the buttons until he finally reached caller ID. Dad. Dad was calling. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. There was no use in answering anyway. He was only three blocks from home.

His phone rang again.

Either dad really needed to get a hold of him or dad had spaced out and forgotten he'd called. Probably the latter Echizen mused, kicking a stone into across the sidewalk in thought. As Inui would say, _'theres a 99% chance that he's drunk' _he almost laughed to himself at the thought. Why it was funny he had no clue. Maybe he really was going crazy.

Each step he took filled him with apprehension, fear, and adrenalin. He didn't want to go home, he wanted to go anywhere but home. And yet, there was nowhere to go besides home. He could run away but he didn't have a job or money or anything. He could call the cops but then he might have to go back to the states. He could stay the night at a friend's but he wasn't that close with anyone besides maybe Momo and even he hadn't invited him over yet. Besides he didn't have any money for a gift. Well not that he could spare anyway. His money was all for food and school supplies. He pulled his hat over his eyes, and then rubbed his face in an attempt to stop the tears from overflowing.

He didn't care. Dad could beat him black and blue. He didn't care anymore. He was resigned to his fate. Nothing could lessen the damage anyway. He could lock himself away for the rest of his life and dad would still find a way to make his life a living hell. And somehow. Somehow he was crying. He couldn't rub the tears away. Was life even worth living if each and every day was just going to be more of the same? Why had his cousin left! He grabbed the straps of his duffle bag letting them chafe his hands—anything to erase the numbness he felt. But it wasn't enough, it was never enough. It hadn't been enough in America before he met his cousin, and it wasn't enough now.

He needed to feel something.

Without thinking he slammed open the door to his house and kicked his shoes off haphazardly. He hung his extremely filthy hat on the hook by the door then pulled off his sweaty shirt. And for a moment he was lost in the comparably cool breeze, it felt nice. The prince then dashed up the stairs indiscreetly, tossing his bag of clothes into his room before making his way to the kitchen. He wasn't going to hide anymore. Let dad take his best shot.

And yet he wasn't so sure if he could really carry through with it. Could he face his father tonight?

Ryoma rubbed the last of his tears dry stuffing his now jostled bento into the refrigerator. He could do this. He could stand up to dad. Even if dad was twice his size. And yet he couldn't. He placed his bag of noodles into the cupboard than pulled out a pan and filled it with water. He just needed to finish cooking his ramen, and then he could go back to hiding in his room. Like a rat, or some other vermin. Always in hiding. Always despised.

He chuckled at the thought, finding it funny. No wonder his cat loved to play with him so much. His cat! He hadn't seen her in awhile. He searched through the cupboards, which contained nothing besides condiments and the few bowls of ramen he had just purchased, looking for a can of food. Hopefully dad had been feeding her. He bit his lip in thought. He should probably grab a few cans and bring it back to his room. Then at least he could make sure—his thoughts trailed off. Soy sauce, a tube of wasabi, karashi, vinegar- Bingo! He reached over grabbing four cans of kitty food stuffing them into his jean pockets. He could feed her upstairs later.

The water had just come to a rolling boil and he had just dropped the noodles in when dad came stumbling into the room. Ryoma could hear the room shake as he fell over knocking something off a nearby counter. Glass. Shattered glass. Ryoma looked around trying to plan his escape route but dad was already next to him. He must have been especially drunk that night. His feet were all cut up and bleeding but it didn't look like he felt a thing. He just staggered on, grabbing onto the counters like a toddler that was just learning to walk.

"Ohayo " Ryoma muttered ripping open the seasoning packet, maybe if he talked nicely he could go upstairs without a confrontation. The seventh grader hummed a bit stirring his food trying his best not to come off as nervous. It was almost as if dad could smell fear after all, and any sign of weakness was to be exploited.

"D-dontchu hummm it-t inv-in-ites demons." His father slurred out tittering forward toward him, "Wad-wash- you cool-ooking."

"Noodles" Ryoma muttered staring into the pot afraid to look into his father's eyes "want some?"

"W-What?" his father hiccupped "Y-you thief—you you"

Ryoma noticed his father's eyes suddenly glint with anger and grew numb. There was no reasoning. There was no escape. Dad remembered what he wanted to remember when he was drunk. It was pointless to think. It was pointless to feel. It could only hurt him worse. His dad was so close now that he could smell the alcohol in his breath.

"You're trying… skipped….cops… s-steal." Ryoma couldn't make out the gibberish in-between, all he knew was that dad was mad, really mad. His father walked toward him only he fell over. And then he felt something.

Pain.

Ryoma came crashing down when his father grabbed onto him unexpectedly, and the pot of hot liquid that he had previously been stirring, came splashing down on top of him. Luckily he landed atop his father sparing himself a concussion, but that didn't save him from earning several first degree burns. His dad couldn't feel a thing. But Ryoma could. He screamed rolling around trying to erase the feeling of searing hot liquid on his bare skin. It hurt bad. Really bad. His father was muttering more garbage but he couldn't focus on that. Everything hurt.

He bit his lip so hard that he could taste coppery blood on his tongue, trying to stop from screaming out further. He couldn't scream. The neighbors might hear. Eventually his father was trying to sit up and Echizen rolled off curling up and grabbing his torso in pain. It was just an accident. It was just an accident. His father was just drunk. He just fell and tried to use him to catch his fall. He couldn't blame his father. His father was slurring out something else now, somewhat angrily from the sound of it. And yet he still couldn't blame him. Eventually Echizen was able to get up with much effort, his breathing sporadic and his entire body throwing a riot from the sheer pain. Throbbing, burning, excruciating pain. He hobbled out of the room slowly one step at a time gripping his stomach; hearing his father's insults as he clenched his teeth. He was a whore, he wasn't worthless, and he wasn't ungrateful. And yet, sometimes it felt like he was. He wasn't worthless, he was a burden, he was stupid and ungrateful. Tears and snot covered his entire face. Some came as a reaction to his wounds, and some came from his own turbulent emotions. Eventually he stumbled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Cold water. He turned on the sink splashing himself as best as he could. Numbness. He needed the numbness.

He always needed to be numb.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHORS NOTE:<strong> _My updating will be slow and steady. My college classes start tommorow which may slow it down a bit, or it might speed it up. It really depends LOL_

_Thank you to all who have reviewed and please review if you read this. I need to know people are actually reading this story. LOL_

_LASTLY, if anyone could help write a better summary PM me or just leave it in your review. Thanks._


	4. Chapter 4

Ryoma couldn't sleep. Even the slightest touch sent his nerves ablaze; sending signals of pain throughout his small body. As a result he found himself tossing and turning the whole night through, his skin too sore and tender to allow him any rest; Or any peaceful rest at least. He had smeared lotion all over his skin and enveloped his midsection with gauze—if only to keep the oily substance off his sheets. Yet, it wasn't helping much at all. He wished he could fill up a tub with cold water and just sit in it forever, but then he might develop hypothermia, and besides the electric heaters would probably start up inside the bath.

He must have tried everything.

He tried sleeping under the covers, but they soon grew warm as fire so he tried sleeping without covers, yet no matter what he did there was still the warm underbelly of his mattress beneath him. He opened the window, but the air was still outside and it barely helped. He couldn't move the blind lest someone see him. So he tried sleeping part way on top of his pillow, but it grew hot. He flipped it over, but that side grew hot as well. He couldn't fall asleep before his pillow needed to be turned over once more. He finally grew exasperated with the entire process and tried the floor. Only the floor was to stiff to sleep on. He placed a blanket underneath. Only the blanket grew warm. Over and over the same dilemma, he was going to lose his mind.

1am

He shuffled back on top of the mattress leaving his bedspread to gather dust on the floor.

2am

He placed his now cool blanket underneath him and took off his shirt.

3am

He took off his pajama bottoms and tried sleeping in just his underwear.

4am

He tried ignoring the warmth and pain to count sheep.

5am

He sat up deciding against sleeping entirely and stumbled around searching for his book bag.

5:16am

He turned the page of his newly checked out book groggily, trying his best to comprehend the text that was all jumbled together. Everything blurred and smeared into one giant heap of ink, and he couldn't remember what had happened after he read it anyway. There was an illustration of a sword stuck in a boulder on some waterfall; and after awhile, by some miracle, he drifted off into a restless slumber.

* * *

><p>HE WAS LATE! He hopped around struggling to put on his tennis uniform and jacket. His rail card, where did he put his rail card? He scrounged around putting on his socks and sweat bands at the same time. He could only imagine the noise his father was hearing coming out of his room; Bounce, bounce, thud, thud, crash! He was wrestling with his own clothing for peep sakes! At long last he spotted his wallet and house key on the drawer and calmed down a bit, tying up his shoes. Shorts? He had put on a pair of white shorts. He looked up and down his legs searching for bruises. Nothing. There was a light bruise on his right shin, but his sock could cover that up nicely. Shorts, shirt, jacket—hat, keys, racquet—phone, lunch, wallet. He scurried around the house grabbing the items of his mental checklist as fast as humanly possible. His dad was up earlier than usual sitting at the table, his head sagging low, probably from a headache, and a mug of coffee pressed to his lips. Today was Saturday, dad always woke up early on Saturday. Those reporters would be here again. The first time they showed up dad was lucky enough to be up and about ringing his bell. Dad wouldn't take any chances. Not with those tabloid vultures.<p>

"What's the rush Ryoma?" Nanjaro chuckled, setting down his drink, "Don't tell me you're late for a date?"

"No" the tennis prodigy muttered grabbing his bento from the fridge and stuffing it into his tennis bag. "No time to talk—tennis."

"Okay then, have f-!" Only Ryoma was out the door before his father could even complete his sentence. He grabbed his cell-phone scanning the screen for the time.

"Shit eight minutes!"

And he ran; ran fast and hard toward the bus stop. Sprinting as fast as his tiny legs could push him. He couldn't miss that bus. He would have to wait a whole half hour longer if he missed that bus. Or catch the subway, and he'd probably be trampled there. The place was a zoo. He was already late for the train. He nearly darted into traffic but caught his footing at the least minute. Several people gasped, pointing at him, he had come just inches away from getting hit by a taxi. Crap. He breathed in deeply feeling the pain from his burns set in from last night. Pain killers, he had forgotten to bring pain killers. No matter. He tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the damn light to change from the red to walk. It was taking way to long.

1

2

3

He could still feel some lingering gazes, probably from making a spectacle of himself earlier, but pushed it toward the back of his mind. Fuck, he was going to be late! He hated the crowds and crowds and crowds of people. He needed to get to the damn stop.

4

5

6

FINALLY! The light changed and dozens of people began crossing the road in an orderly fashion. Well dozens of people minus Ryoma who was weaving through the crowd like a madman on a mission. Take a right. His feet automatically guided him through the backstreets. Take a left. He found himself breathing heavily and felt a sharp pain pool around his chest, squeezing the life out of him. Two more blocks. Sweat glistened off the top of his brow and he was vaguely reminded that he didn't put on deodorant that morning. No matter. He could still play tennis. Finally he came to a familiar apartment complex. '_Legs don't fail me now'_ he mentally chided picking up his pace running headlong toward a tall wire fence. Before he knew it he had tossed his bag over the barrier and scaled the links with ease. He could hear the land owner's door open in alarm and someone shouting, dogs barking and snapping and growling. FUCK! Not now. He stumbled around grabbing his things then ran for his life through the garden and the parking lot trampling over a ton of flowers as he hastily made his grand escape. Somehow the old man and his viscous animals had given up on his pursuit. Hopefully he hadn't called the cops. Sirens. Sirens were not a good sign. Half a block. Shit shit shit as if he hadn't had enough to worry about. He skidded to a stop nearly falling over on the slick ground in front of the bus sign, breathing heavily. The cops wouldn't, the cops wouldn't he was too exhausted to think clearly. There were a few other people at the stop giving him funny looks. They were older, but not quite full grown yet, probably high school students. Ryoma tilted down his hat. Who cares what they thought? At least he hadn't missed the damn bus. He barely had time to pull out his cell phone and check the time before the vehicle came to a rolling stop and the doors swung open with a hiss.

Echizen stepped onto the bus fumbling around with his wallet; his hands still shaking and his ears still ringing with the sound of sirens and dogs. And it felt good. He couldn't pin point why. It felt almost as good as winning a match against a challenging opponent, almost as good scoring a point against his father, almost as good as sipping a fresh bubbly Ponta beneath a cherry tree on a crisp spring day. He smiled swiping his card and walking toward the back of the bus. There were no seats. He had to stand. Still, that was okay. He felt good. Invincible. Unbeatable. Great. Fantastic. On top of the world.

* * *

><p>Everyone wanted to know why he was late for sign-in. It hadn't occurred to him to come up with a proper excuse while he was biting back stabs of pain on the bus—so he told everyone he was in the delivery room helping some person have a baby. Probably not the best lie he had ever told. No one bought it. Yet, no one pestered him further and everyone seemed happy just to see him. His game wasn't for a few hours, so he had time to kill. It might have been nice to know that before he rushed out of the house like a convict who'd just escaped from prison. Apparently Horio had put on a jersey and impersonated him. He had no clue how the team had pulled that off.<p>

The viper hissed as he walked by but Ryoma just waved him off pulling his hat down over his eyes to block the sun. His team mates seemed worried about him, but to skittish to ask why he was late. He inwardly laughed, somewhat amused. He had just trespassed, destroyed private property, and evaded the cops. How would he explain that if they asked, _'Oh I just took a stroll and lost track of time.'_ He was already in enough trouble for a minor theft. It was a miracle he was allowed to play at all today. Not to mention the night before. Yeah because getting a prescription for a drug from some shady character that might not even be a real doctor was totally legal. Yet he had gotten away with all of it, and it felt nice. It felt like he was in control for once. Luck was on his side. He just prayed the tides wouldn't change, not until the current swept him far away.

He had set down his bag by the courts and extracted his racquet and a ball. Now was as good of a time to practice as ever ne? He just needed to find a wall, and maybe a bottle of Ponta. He walked around aimlessly halfway searching for a Ponta and halfway searching for an icepack to get rid of his stinging burning pain.

He found the soda machine entirely to quickly, and was almost disappointed that it was so easy to find. He wanted to wonder around a bit longer. Oh well. His pocket was full of disorganized yen, and he accidentally pulled out a ten thousand while he was trying to pull out a thousand. He fumbled around a bit trying to smooth over the bill enough so that the machine would accept it before realizing the bill was to large. Embarrassed he stuffed the paper into his pocket and fished out the correct bill. Then, suddenly, a fresh bubbly Ponta and a handful of change was within his grasp. He hadn't had a can of his favorite fizzy drink in ages, well a few days. He was almost too eager to have it, like a drug addict getting his fix.

An ice cold soda, time to kill, breaking a few laws, lying. He was doing pretty well today. Now if only his burns weren't pestering him each time his clothing touched his skin. He had examined his injuries further on his own the night before while trying to sleep, and found a lump surrounding one of his ribs. It was tiny. No bigger than a marble. He might have dislocated a rib or something when he fell on top of his dad. He wasn't sure. He didn't hear a snap though so it didn't really concern him too much.

* * *

><p>He was hitting his ball against the back of a building when Sakuno found him, mumbling as usual so that he couldn't tell at all what she was saying. Her annoying friend what's her face was there too. The fan club girl. She was especially annoying. He didn't know how men unraveled the mystery that was women.<p>

"I-it's almost time for the first m-match." Sakuno mumbled suddenly finding her shoes very interesting, "R-Ryoma?"

"And" Echizen spoke disinterested, still hitting the ball, creating a rather large round skid mark on the brick wall. He was not even so much as giving a second glance to his couch's granddaughter. He was too absorbed in his sport. It was the only thing keeping his mind off of the searing pain now spreading like fire across his entire ribcage.

"A-and T-Tezuka said to get you."

_Why hadn't she just said that to begin with?_ Ryoma wondered catching the ball in his hand and squeezing it between his fingers; using it to keep himself preoccupied. His feet found themselves making their way toward the courts –taking on a mind of their own—as he squashed the life out of his greenish sphere beneath his fingertips. He was supposed to play doubles today. He wasn't quite sure if he could pull it off.

He had played doubles with Momo before on the street but that was nearly a week ago when his cousin was still—he paused mid thought. The match! Of course the match would give him a reason to call Nanoko and who knows, maybe she hated America just as much as he hated dad. He grinned trying to keep himself cheerful, but quickly came down off his high when reality crashed into him. His cousin was probably loving the states. He couldn't tell her to come back out right, she'd be suspicious. He squeezed the ball so hard that it literally popped, making a loud noise as it expired. He hadn't realized that his feet had stopped in front of his team minutes ago. Everyone was staring.

"Ne Ochibi?"

Echizen looked dazed, dropping the flattened object to the ground before making his way to the bench like a zombie. He was too depressed to care. His cousin was going to be gone for the rest of the school year plus some and there was nothing he could do about it. Who knows, she might even move into a dorm and leave for good when she got back. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but he couldn't let them fall. The sky, he'd look up toward the sky and catch the droplets before they had the chance to cascade down his face. He could just lose himself to his own little world, get stuck in the clouds. Sometimes as a child he would stare at the clouds for hours on end, drawing shapes with his fingers and imagining what was going on between the fluffy people and the animals high up above the ground. He thought they were made of cotton balls and often wondered how planes could slice through them so easily. It had been a major disappointment to him when he got to ride his first jumbo jet only to discover that clouds were water vapor. Somehow the magic was lost. Today the clouds were a beautiful gray with barely any light filtering through them. Would the angels cry for him today? Or would they wait until after he was locked up in his room?

"Earth to Echizen" Momo yelled out sarcastically waving fingers above his face, blocking his perfect view. "Geeze he's being a bigger brat than usual."

He snapped out of it quickly grunting in acknowledgment of his sempai before tilting down his cap and leaning back. Now was as good of a time as ever to nap, right? If only he could. He eyed his captain for awhile but turned away when Tezuka began to eye him back. No, he couldn't bring himself to ask for an aspirin. Besides his bachou would be way too skeptical about it. He wasn't even so sure that kids his age were even supposed to use aspirin at all. Maybe the first aid kit had some ibuprofen? He paused biting the inside of his cheek secretly when someone accidentally nudged his side. _Oww, shit that hurt_, the inside of his mouth was bleeding now. He had bit down to hard. _Crap, crap crap_. He looked around; good no one had noticed his involuntary wince. He had already figured it all out. He'd just have to suffer through it. It was his own dang fault for waking up late anyway. If he pulled out the first aid kit it'd be like opening up a bucket of honey around a swarm of bees. Everyone would quickly congregate around him. He didn't need the attention.

"Warm up Momoshiro, Echizen." Coach Ryozaki barked sometime later, "I expect nothing less than your best out there."

Echizen sighed wondering if the bags around his eyes were noticeable at all. Oh right, he had that whole allergies excuse now. He smiled just a little. At least something was going right today. Momo slapped him on his back on the way out of the half shelter making Ryoma bite his tongue to hold back from screaming. Stretching, stretching, he had to focus on stretching. He reached down touching his toes suppressing another yelp. He could do this. It was only one match. And then there was a different weird contortion, and another and another. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. He sprung back up glad that the torture session was over. The prince hopped around a bit getting into his split step, noticing Inui and the reporters jotting down notes. Not now of all times, couldn't they wait until he was actually in top form?

* * *

><p>They had won. The coach wasn't pleased by how they had won but that wasn't the point. They had won. So what if they had divide the court into halves to do it. Some of his teammates had taken to ruffling his hair and another one squeezed him. His mouth was open when Eiji came up and gave him a bear hug. He couldn't suppress the pained gasp and grimace that omitted from his small being.<p>

"Ochibi Ochibi I didn't hurt you bad Ochibi I didn't mean to—" Echizen was still wincing grabbing his side, he stumbled back into the player house where the other players fretted over him. The photographer had come over to take a picture only to be shooed away by the coach. "—are you okay? I didn't mean to I swea-"

"I'm fine" Ryoma tried his best to be convincing but the pain radiated through his voice box, "You just grabbed onto a bruise is all."

"A bruise?" Eiji asked frowning, "It's that bully isn't it?"

"No" Ryoma sighed scratching his ear with his racquet. "I was clumsy." He paused, another lie another lie. He had to make it believable this time. "I had to stand and the bus started before I could grab a hold of a railing and I kind of fell and hit my side in a nearby chair."

"Echizen" Tezuka spoke lowly, "You're not lying right?"

"Of course not boucho!" Echizen spoke faking outrage, "It's not that bad just a slight bruise, I'll go to the clinic if you want."

"Do that," a command; Tezuka was actually ordering him to see a doctor, "Injuries to the chest can be more severe than they appear on the surface."

"Yeah Ochibi" Oishi cut in.

"Lift up your shirt so I can evaluate the damage" Inui but in creepily, "This may be affecting my data."

"Data?" Eiji shouted, "Ochibi's hurt and all you care about is data!"

Echizen sank deeper into his seat, no they couldn't lift up his shirt. No No No. A lie, he needed a good lie. "I-its to cold, Tezuka you can look at it if you want in the bathroom where its warm."

"That won't be necessary." Tezuka readjusted his glasses, "I just need to feel for broken bones."

Crap, Echizen frowned, he thought if he offered that he'd be off the hook entirely. "Where do you want to feel". He tried to sound confident, even if he was scared fo discovery.

"Your injury of course" Eiji cut it laughing, "I don't think bachou's a pervert."

"A-hem" Tezuka coughed now bending down, ready to begin his examination, "Does it hurt still."

"No"

"Good" Tezuka murmured, pressing down against each rib he felt gently through Ryoma's coat. Ryoma was all the while trying to avoid cringing. "Everything seems to check out." Tezuka sighed.

"Told you" Echizen replied cockily, smoothing out his shirt, "Wait, can I still play?" Echizen would be damned if his first officially sanctioned singles match in Japan was shot because of a damn bruise.

Tezuka looked taken aback for a second before his emotionless face returned, "Only if you promise to see a doctor and only if you promise not to play if its hurting you. AT ALL."

"All right", Echizen paused, "I'm going to take a walk" the youngest regulars member murmured getting up and brushing past his captain arrogantly, "I'll be back before _my_ next match."

* * *

><p>He grabbed another soda than sat back on a bench basking in the sun, bouncing a new ball on his racquet, fidgeting. He needed to get his mind off of the dreaded <em>full<em> physical exam. Something. Something. He needed another match. He took a sip of Ponta still bouncing the ball, this time on the narrow edge of his racquet. He needed a distraction- fast. Not even the tennis team walking past him was enough distraction. Even telling them they had a way to go wasn't helping to distract him. He needed something more. He crunched the can in his hands than stood up to watch the next match, one foot after another, making his way back to the rest of his team. Distraction, distraction, he needed distraction.

Yet, distraction could not come fast enough. Echizen inwardly grimaced. He could go to the hospital on his way home, but then the doctor might ask about—he sighed. No he couldn't really see a doctor. That would screw up everything and the police might even get involved. His eyebrows knitted in worry trying to figure out a way to overcome this little hurdle. Why couldn't Tezuka just leave him alone? It was just a bruise. It's not like his rib was jutting out of his skin or piercing his heart.

Echizen really couldn't focus on the tournament rankings and scores, try as he might. He eventually sat back withdrawing into the depths of his mind. He could hear Horio and his group babbling about something or other. Fuji's match had just finished due to some sort of injury in Takashi's wrist and the Golden Pair was up. They were playing some weird team. Fudomine, they were new apparently. Every so often the sound of a camera clicking interrupted his thoughts. His foot tapped a bit on their own accord, moving to the beat of the court. Clink-clink-clink-clink. The steady rhythm of a tennis ball being volleyed across the net, Clink, clink, clink, clink, clonk. And still he couldn't figure out how to get a doctor to forge a note. His physical wasn't due for another few months, he wasn't expecting this. He couldn't hide this.

"Clink, clink, thud, clink, skid, bounce, clink, thud, "

"Forty-Love"

"Clink, clack, clink, bounce, clink, thud, clink, bounce, bounce, bounce…"

"Forty-All"

"Echizen" Momo's voice, just great, the prankster was going to start poking him no doubt. "Echizen"

"What" the boy spoke disinterestedly, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and hideaway for eternity, trying his best to seem like his cocky old self.

"I'll take you to the clinic, you took the bus right?"

Echizen nodded swallowing the lump inside his throat, his saliva as thick as sand in his windpipe. No, he couldn't. He needed to—DAD! He looked up trying his darned best to look unfazed, and then sighed, "I'll call dad first, he might be able to take me and besides he'll need to know if I'm going to be late."

Momo laughed, and it scared the seventh grader, "It's no trouble at all, my parents will drive us, and Tezuka already left a message on your answering machine. Calm down, we know what we're doing. It's no different than if you were injured on the courts. Would you rather Ryuzaki drove you?"

"That old women?" Ryoma scoffed trying his best to come off with an attitude, "Pass"

Momoshirou laughed waving his finger back and forth, "My my you're a rude one." He paused noticing Ryoma wasn't even so much as blinking at his attempt to lighten the mood, "My mom will be here after the matches for both you and Takashi."

"Okay sempai," Ryoma muttered pulling his cap back down to cover his eyes, leaning back to sleep. Or at least fain sleep. Ryoma knew the truth, though he wished it wasn't the truth. He was royally screwed. Unless he could somehow fake seeing the doctor but he doubted he could pull it off. They'd probably walk into the waiting room with him and help him fill out the forms. He couldn't cry though. He had to be strong, convincing, and laid-back. He had to put back up his mask. All the way. He had to fix all the chips and cracks. He couldn't cry. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'm going to go get some water." Ryoma muttered lazily, trying to find a way to escape.

"Ok just get back soon, matches are on you know?"

* * *

><p>There was a group of boys back by the fountains putting on a show and scaring the other teams; just hitting the ball back and forth back and forth between their racquets. Ryoma wasn't even really paying attention. He simply held up his raquet and walked through on his way to the fountains, wowing the crowd, stealing his opponents thunder. When they grew irritated he simply spoke his famous catch phrase, "Madda madda dane."<p>

They were beyond furious. Perfect. He wanted to laugh. They were going to get him now and beat him up. As if.

"Have you tried two balls?"

To bad Kaidou had to ruin his fun and defend him. He was actually looking forward to fighting them. He wanted to do something besides hold a racquet in his hands. He was itching to fight. Itching to take out all of his anger and frustration on something. Eventually the seventh grader found his way back to the courts, after wondering around for a bit out of boredom. His match was soon right? It didn't hurt to bad. He could pull this off. Maybe.

He just had to be cocky. His old self. He would survive just like he used to. If he was mean and arrogant than people wouldn't pry. It worked before and it'd work now as well. He twirled his racquet in his hand offhandedly, unthinkingly. Just when he was allowing his true self to shine through he had to put back up his mask and shield. He hated it. He loved it. He didn't know who he was anymore, but then again maybe he was just finding out who he really was. Maybe he really was a rotten apple after all. His dad was, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree right? Maybe this entire time he was just pretending to be happy and nice. He had to disillusion himself. He knew no other way to survive.

It was raining, raining so hard that the referee was considering cancelling the next match. Maybe even the angel's didn't know what to do.

* * *

><p><em>I personally think it sucks, but please tell me what you think? Don't be afraid to tell me if it stinks. LOL, I like critics. I mean I write this for fun, but its still fun to know what people think and what not.I think its bad, but not that bad concidering I wrote this chappy in an hour to relieve some built up stress.<em>

_Why is it that y'all add this to your favs or alerts but don't review. It only takes a second lol. It doesn't really matter You dont have to review. It'd just be nice if you could. :P I like hearing from people who are reading my fics. Even if they hate my writing._


	5. Chapter 5

His match had started. He could already feel the adrenalin rush into his body, feeding a burning fire that had ignited spontaneously within the young man's soul. Finally a real match: finally a chance to beat someone down to smithereens. Finally a way to stop thinking about how fucked up his life was. Tennis. Tennis. Tennis. He couldn't think of anything else. His eyes darted back and forth, eying his opponent up and down; measuring him up. He could see everything, and the world seemed to make since again. His hands shook in anticipation, sweat crawled down his brow, his feet unwontedly twitched, his body grew stiff with anticipation waiting for the strike.

The ball went up, and the world seemed to grow still in Ryoma's eyes. Nothing else but the ball mattered. Then, almost as fast as it came, it was gone. The green orb smashed across the net unceremoniously, only to be returned instantaneously by the young freshmen. Ryoma was going to wipe the floor with this guy. He was somewhat happy with this fact. Maybe he was too happy. By some means the freshman had carelessly missed a return. No matter. He would still win.

"Fifteen Love"

He smirked, watching his opponent toss the ball up for his next serve. He needed to focus more; he had missed an easy return. He wasn't some weak little kid ready to be walked all over. No. He was a fierce opponent, nearly indestructible. If only—the ball dashed across the net back and forth—the freshman's body mechanically reacting—if only he could somehow beat his father. Then maybe, maybe then, everything would be okay. Thud, thud, thud, thud, steady pounding on the courts, thud, thud, thud, thud. Suddenly the ball flew the opposite direction, catching Echizen off guard, and he dove. He'd be damned if another ball got past him. His reach wouldn't, it wouldn't. He switched hands returning the ball desperately, nearly sighing in relief when it went flying over the net. That was too close. He was being too sloppy. He waiting for the return shot only it never came.

"Fifteen- Fifteen"

Perfect. He got back into his rhythm quickly, smirking as another ball was tossed up, and barreled across the courts. Easy, too easy. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Back and forth back and forth. He saw an opening and he' be damned if he didn't take it. He ran up to the front of the net preparing for a smash when suddenly the ball went flying toward the back of the court. CRAP! He was being so careless today, what was wrong with him? He dashed jumping up to return the shot backwards. He hit it. By some miracle he had returned it. But if they returned it-shit, shit, shit. A missed return, and two close calls in a row. It was time to get serious.

"Forty-Fifteen"

Thank Kami. His opponent was an imbecile that couldn't send back such an easy shot, but still, what if his opponent hadn't slipped up? Thank Kami he had. The prince got into position uneasily, stepping from side to side. He was being to sloppy today. He gripped his racket tighter, and watched the ball with eagle eyes. No, it wouldn't get past him. He was not going to be so absentminded. He needed to get his head in the game. He gripped his racquet still tighter, as if by doing so he was choking the oxygen right out of his opponent's inner fire. And he swung hard, scoring another point. Good. He smirked, ticking off his enemy. Good.

The game had become nearly predictable. Back and forth back and forth. Nothing to terribly challenging. In fact it was uninteresting. He began losing points once more, because he was bored. It was so predictable. Too predictable. Boring. Back and forth, back and forth. Swing, reposition, swing, reposition, swing, dash, reposition. There was no challenge to it at all. He was almost a hundred percent sure that his victory was in the bag when suddenly he lost a point. An easy point. No, not a mess up this time. He couldn't understand why. Why his arm felt so funny. Had dad twisted it last night? He couldn't remember. He bit his lower lip preparing to serve—what would his dad think of him? Losing a point because his arm was tingling? How lame. It was such an easy return too. Oh well, no use crying over spilt milk or points. He looked down trying to think, squeezing his hands open and closed in thought. There had to be some sort of trickery at work here. Something, something, but what? Echizen served the ball across the courts once more, waiting for his opponent's comeback; sweat cascading off him on torrents. He couldn't lose. Those damn reporters were here, and were bound to tell dad every last detail of his match. He couldn't show weakness.

Damn it! His arm felt all messed up again. There was defiantly some trickery at play. Not again. No. He couldn't deal with the shame of losing a match so early in the tournament. He could imagine his father already. _"Damn brat, can't even win a bunch of armatures. Why don't you go become a whore now, you'll never be good enough to go pro. And you expect to beat me?"_ His mind began reeling with the countless insults his father had thrown at him in the past, forgetting the tennis match entirely. His body moved on its own accord out of instinct, or perhaps fear, chasing after the green sphere, "_Get a fucking job now you ungrateful slut, you can at least pay the bills. How could you fucking lose such an easy game, you're not even fit to be my son. You should have never been born, such a worthless waste of oxygen." _ And again, the ball bounced away. His arm frozen in place. Damn it. Damn it all. He would not go through that again!

"Game to Ibu"

He eyed his opponent wearily, dishing out a regular serve, waiting for the ball to fly back over. Hoping, sincerely hoping that his arm wouldn't fall asleep on him once more. Thud, thud, thud, thud. His side, my side, his side, my side. Crap. He could feel it coming on again. The tingling feeling. He'd be dammed if a little bit of tingling stopped him from winning. It was just a minor annoyance. He had played with far worse. Fuck he was playing with burns covering his entire stomach. He could handle something as stupid as his hand falling asleep on him. He was just about to return a shot when his arm refused to move once more. No matter. He twisted around, pivoting on his right foot. He would hit the ball anyway. He was almost all away around when his racket flew out of his hand, and then there was nothing but a faint stinging, and red.

SHITT!

* * *

><p>If there was one thing Ryoma couldn't stand about clinics, it was the smell. The sheer aroma of vomit and disinfectant and blood and puss all rolled into one was cringe worthy. Throw in the buzzing fluorescent light bulbs overhead, the way too shiny and spotless floors, and the way too over cheery, and over helpful nursing staff, and you had a recipe for disaster. At least, from Echizen's point of view. The whole place was, in a word, sickening.<p>

Somehow he wished he was back on the courts. He had defeated Ibu somewhat easily. Not too easily, but easy enough. All he had to do was switch from hand to hand. Nothing to hard about that. He smirked remembering the look of his opponents face as he smashed ball after ball into oblivion. He still had a way to go. He needed a more challenging opponent. Yes, he wished he was back on the courts. Not stuck in a hard plastic chair filling out forms. Why did places like this always have hard plastic chairs again? He hated seeing doctors. He hated it, hated it, hated it!

The thing Echizen most hated about doctor's offices was how boring it was. The waiting room was stuffed with annoying people, and the television they had was playing some kids movie that he had watched ten billion times before. He looked down at his form, yes or no, yes or no. Boring! Maybe it'd be fun to screw with the doctor and say his family had every medical condition under the sun? Sickle Cell Disease? Yeah, we have that. Heart Disease? That too. Muscular Dystrophy? Yes. Breast Cancer? Yeah. Colon Cancer, Hai. Skin Cancer? You bet! Testicular cancer? Maybe his imaginary grandpa Akira. Hyperthyroidism? Yup. Anemia. Hai Hai! He chuckled at his own inner musings before stopping himself. People might stare otherwise. He didn't need the attention. He furrowed his brows, no he'd be serious with it, just to appease his Sempai's and coach. Sickle Cell Disease? No. Heart Disease? No. How boring.

Taka sempai had it easy at least. Momo had grabbed his forms and filled out everything for him using the school's records- lucky bastard, breaking his writing hand. Echizen could only marvel. Maybe it would be wise to do the same sometime. He could still play tennis with his right hand, but with his left hand incapacitated he could skip a million pages worth of homework. Well maybe, Horio and crew would probably rat his ambidexterity out. The dark green haired teen sighed, slumping back into his hard uncomfortable seat dejectedly. At least his other problem was solved. At least the angels helped him for once. At least with this giant cut on his eye he could just tell everyone the doctor looked at his chest, and he was fine—when in fact the doctor just stitched up his face, and hadn't heard a word about his chest at all. What was another white lie? Besides he had had worse. This was just a mere scratch and some bruises. It's not like his foot was twisted around nearly backwards like that one time back in Cali, he paused trying to calm himself down. He couldn't hyperventilate here. Besides that wasn't so bad, dad had at least bought him a fancy game system over it. He really didn't mean to. Dad just drank a little too much that night, that's all. Besides maybe if he hadn't of- Echizen bit his lower lip, trying to distract himself by filling in another line. Did anyone in his family have diabetes?

"Echizen Ryoma" Someone dressed in blue scrubs called prompting Momoshiru to nudge the freshman rather annoyingly, Ryoma all the while remained unmoved, circling everything the best he could while completely ignoring the annoying bastards pokes and prods. Yes he wore a helmet when riding a bike, well no that was a lie, but yeah when he rode alone he did so there. He skimmed over the next question not even hearing Momo's mother call his name. His breath hitched. Was anyone an alcoholic in his family? No, no one could find out. He somewhat nervously checked the box that said no trying to keep his cool. No one could know, besides dad would stop once he beat him at tennis, he promised. Eventually Ryoma seemed to come out of his trance, his forms finally filled in.

"Echizen Ryoma" The assistant called for the fourth or fifth time impatiently tapping her foot, prompting the prince to stand up, crumpling his forms in one hand. "Echizen Ryoma?" The lady seemed exasperated. "Oh there you are, the doctor is waiting in room three." She smiled warmly, almost falsely, as she abruptly turned on her heel going off to do whatever it is that medical people do.

* * *

><p>If there was one thing worse than the waiting room it was the examination room. A few uncaring, overworked, stressed out nurses grabbed him harshly, shoving him onto a scale to be weighed and measured, forcing him out of his coat, and cap. Luckily he had worn long sleeves that day. Then another ruffian quickly wrapped a black thing around his arms, and pushed a button until it hurt, writing down notes that she called blood pressure. It must have been high because he was about ready to murder the next nurse that came after him. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his cool, calm, and collected composure and he was ordered to sit down on a bed covered in paper until the doctor came to stitch him up. Echizen cringed at the thought, could they really stitch up his eyelid? He sighed, whatever, the doctor knew best right? They might even prescribe him some codeine or something. He smiled at the thought, a painkiller, that's what he needed.<p>

Tiresome.

He looked around the room smelling that same grotesque mixture of bodily fluids and chlorine. The lights in here were brighter, the walls white and blinding. He swung his legs back and forth bored out of his mind. What was the point in calling him in here if the doctor was going to be a few minutes anyway? He was contented in reading through the parts of the inner ear with his good eye for awhile, and then found interest in reading about the importance of washing hands for another few minutes. It was so fucking boring in here! He sat back staring at nothing, imagining himself back on the courts, yet he was still bored. He fidgeted in his chair, wondering where his racket was. He wished he could at least bounce a ball in here.

Eventually the doctor did come over, an elderly man, but still stout, and professional. He took out his stethoscope asking him to breathe in and out; placing the cool object on his chest, and then his back through his thin sweater. Seemingly happy the practitioner jotted down a few more notes. Echizen all the while wanted to scream, _'enough with the bullshit already I'm here for my eye not an exam!' _only he bit his tongue instead.

"Anything else bothering you beside the eye? Toothache perhaps? Seems like a nasty bruise as well." The man spoke softly, how'd you get those injuries?"

"Tennis" Echizen remarked offhandedly waving his hands, trying to get the doctor to actually treat the problem. He wasn't here to have some tea party and discuss politics and the weather. He was here to have his eye looked at. Nothing more.

"Must have been a rough game" the doctor probed further.

"Indeed" Echizen slumped back, crossing his arms in defiance. Like hell he'd give the doctor any clues as to how he actually got that bruise.

"Ah hmm" The doctor hummed grabbing a pair of latex gloves from behind him, snapping them onto his hands with ease. "Well I'll just take a looksy."

The doctor unraveled his bandages, jotting down a few more notes while carefully looking at his cut up close, placing his fingers here and there, causing the prince to bite his lip to hold back from screaming, squirming in his seat. "Needs stitches" the man mumbled some more stuff, medical terms and things that Echizen couldn't understand, all the while jotting down notes, "Liquid stitches."

The procedure itself was almost boring. Almost. The doctor had a few more demons, well nurses, come into the room to hold him down while he cleaned the "affected area". It hurt like a bitch, and he screamed a little, not that he'd ever admit it. Then some weird blue goop was carefully placed over the cut and allowed to dry. Which took forever, and ever. After that whole painful process the doctor placed some more bandages over the eye and gave him a slip of paper with instructions on what to do if complications occurred, and how to clean it out, and all that good stuff.

Echizen could only grimace, dad was going to be called soon enough with the news. He was so stupid! How could he let the racket slip so easily? And what if dad was drunk when they called. No, the reporters. Somehow he could only smile. Today was Saturday, he wouldn't get drunk until the reporters left, which probably was in about a half hour, maybe. Good. The doctor had taken his chart and left, most likely to notify his father.

Ryoma looked out the foggy glass of the exam room window. He couldn't see outside because the window blurred everything, but he could tell it was bright. Not dark and gray like clouds, but bright. Maybe the angels had found a solution after all? He smiled, if only slightly. Maybe.

He found his jacket, and hat, crumpled up on the floor outside by the scale, and left.

* * *

><p>Momo's mother drove them back to Taka's where the team was waiting apparently, waiting to eat. It was a small shop, sort of traditional in away, with the store on bottom and Taka's home on top. Ryoma had never really been to a traditional sushi house, it might be interesting. He barely had time to look around, however, before lions pounced on him. Or close to it. As soon as they showed up it seemed as if fireworks had been ignited at their feet. Suddenly they were at the center of everyone's attention, and not just Inui's. The team began crowding around them, signing Taka's cast, and pointing at Echizen's eye patch.<p>

"Ochibi, does it hurt?"

"Is it fractured or sprained?"

"Echizen did you have to get an x-ray?"

"Taka, don't hold that! Your wrist is injured!"

"What did they do to your eye Echizen?"

Too many questions! The freshman internally shouted, not in the mood to answer anything. He simply attempted to tilt down his cap to make the questions cease, only someone grabbed on to him like a freaking lemur or something. Sometimes he hated Eiji. He could barely contain his wince, and he was sure some of it slipped out.

"You're okay right Echizen?" The red head asked causing the team to silence for some strange reason, "Nothing bad right?"

"I'm fine" Ryoma muttered, trying to be as unaffected as possible. "Thanks."

They didn't seem to ask too many questions after that, yet they still hovered around him like mosquitoes, trying to get deeper into him, and suck his blood, if at all possible. Which of course, it was not. Eventually they dispersed, but only with the arrival of platters and platters full of sushi. Sushi!

Echizen could only smile. Sushi beat ramen noodles any day. He grabbed a tray from right out of the server's hands, and began munching down instantly. Ooh, calamari! Ooh Salmon! Shrimp, shrimp tempura shrimp! Food, food, more food, and food! He couldn't shovel it into his mouth fast enough, who knows when he'd get the chance to eat so much meat again. It was all his.

Food. Food. Food. Food. His stomach was growing into a blimp, and he couldn't find the room to cram anything else in. But he had to. It was just so good, and tasty, and meaty! He sighed, sitting back with a full stomach, watching his team mates squabble over the last bit of food. He watched in amusedly as Momo grabbed a plate of sushi rolls from under Fuji's nose, only to be teary eyed and breathing fire the next second. Echizen could never understand Fuji's taste buds. He could even tolerate the nasty Inui juice. He had to be an alien or something. Echizen picked up his chopsticks playing around with a bit of shrimp uninterestedly. He was so full, but, he could swallow these last couple of pieces at least.

The green haired teen forcibly stuffed one last piece of fish in his mouth only to feel nauseous. He wouldn't puke, he couldn't. He swallowed back down the fiery acid determinedly. There was no way he could eat more, even if he wanted to. So, he sat back contentedly once more, or at least it appeared that way. In actuality he was trying to keep the juices in his stomach, in his stomach. At some point in time he got lost in his own thoughts, thinking of songs he'd heard years ago, and things he needed to do, nodding to his companion's charades to make it seem like he actually cared. It was then that he realized he'd forgotten something. He really should call his cousin. He could only text with his cell phone though, and with his dad at home, he paused, maybe he could call from here? But then they probably didn't want to pay for international calls. He sighed; sitting back looking rather annoyed, something that Taka didn't take long to catch onto.

"Ne Echizen, something wrong?"

"Nothing," the sulking teen muttered.

"Something's wrong with ochibi?" Eiji butted in, looking concerned, "Does it hurt someplace or—"

"No I just wanted to tell Nanako—never mind it's an international call anyway." Ryoma laughed nervously, "I'll just wait until I get home."

"Nanako left?" Momo asked between bites, having snagged what little food Echizen had left on his plate, "When that happen?"

"Last week" Echizen heaved a sigh, "She's going to school in America."

"So that's what's been bothering him!" Oishi proclaimed causing a rather awkward moment complete with crickets and a crackling fire, "I mean that's why you've been, um never mind."

"And that no good bully" Momo cut in opening and closing his hands into a fist.

"I-It's nothing really" Echizen muttered not liking all the attention and wishing he had kept his trap closed.

"Ne Ochibi, you could always send her a message on Ducklook or something." Eiji tried to cheer him up patting his shoulder in a friendly manner.

"Ducklook?" Echizen asked, genuinely confused, "Oh that thingy, I don't have one of those."

"Hai, Data!" Something muttered behind the creepily, "why is that?"

"Sounds annoying" the freshmen quipped lying back in his seat, "The status updates, the bothersome games, the people."

"But Ochibi! No wonder you never looked me up to friend me! How are we supposed to be friends if you won't make a profile to friend me?"

"That makes no since." Echizen muttered groggily, trying to hide his drowsiness, "No since at all."

"Hai, data"

"Leave the brat alone" Kaido spoke lowly, "I don't have one either."

Soon enough the entire team was squabbling over the merits or lack thereof of having an online profile. Well, the entire team minus Inui who was fiercely writing down notes, and Tezuka who was simply watching the scene play out while sipping a glass of water. Ryoma really wasn't paying attention either by the time the argument seemed to have died down. All he knew was that he was sleepy; a natural consequence of overeating. He got up to leave when Momoshiru stopped him, asking if he would wait and go home with him.

"It's not safe at night Echizen, there's all sorts of burglars and rapists and ghosts out there you know?"

"Ghosts?" Echizen laughed, "I'm fine Momo really, and it's only a fifteen minute trip anyway. Don't worry so much."

"If you say so." Momo murmured sounding unsure of himself, "But as your sempai-" Only Echizen had already left, letting the bell on the door ring behind him as he made his way to the train station. Purposefully sprinting into a crowd of people, squeezing inside shoulder to shoulder, so his sempai wouldn't catch up to him. Momo didn't need to know, not now, not ever. Now which train went back home from here? No matter, he didn't exactly want to go straight home anyway. He smiled rubbing his belly as he got into line. At least he was full tonight, that was a good thing.

* * *

><p>It was nearly eight o'clock by the time he got home, as indicated by his cell phone. He had gotten on the wrong train at first, but, after asking around a bit, eventually found his way to someplace familiar, and then he just walked. The reporters probably dropped by already. Dad was probably drunk by now. He would have started drinking after they left, probably hours ago. Ryoma could only sigh, unsure of whether he should open the tattered front door or not.<p>

Maybe he could go through his window? No, he had been late that morning, and, in his rush, he'd forgotten to put up the ladder.

Maybe he could sneak in through the back? No, dad was more likely to be there than up front.

There was really no other option; he shut his eyes in thought letting a slight breeze tickle his hair. Nope, nothing. He bent down unlacing his shoes, shoes were always safe. Even as ragged and torn as they were. He had meant to ask her cousin, before she left, for some money to get new ones, but he had forgotten. It was just his rotten luck. The outside of his footwear looked all right thanks to endless hours of scrubbing, so he was able to fool his team, well maybe not Inui, but the soles on the inside had worn through, and he had developed a fairly large blister from the useless heel. Why did tennis have to destroy his shoes faster than he could outgrow them? Oh well, he had enough money for a pair of sneakers now, at least for Tennis, if he budgeted everything right. Maybe not R shoes, but something decent at least.

He stood up silently calculating everything out, stalling for time, he should be able to buy a new rail card, and school lunches for the next month to stop his team from worrying. He could also afford ramen noodles for both breakfast and dinner figuring in a couple burger days with Momo. He paused, he should also figure in a couple hours worth of court fees so that he could play a bit of street tennis with his friends, and a couple cans of Ponta just to seem like his normal self. Then there was all of his sundry items: A few boxes of soy milk for his bones since dad would steal any milk he put in the fridge- well maybe just some calcium pills, a pack or two of new pencils and pens, a pad of paper, a pair of decent shoes, some grip tape- maybe not his favorite brand though, another package of cover-up, a decent stick of deodorant, some cheap shampoo, toothpaste, some cheap laundry detergent, and he'd probably have enough yen left over to run his clothes through the wash two or three times. If he played his cards right. And then what? He bit his lower lip in thought, he needed a job. Soon.

Before Ryoma knew it he had ran out of things to think about. He sighed once more inserting his key and mentally preparing himself. He gently swung open the door, and stepped into his humble abode letting the warm air seep into his skin for a brief moment before realizing where he was. The freshmen kicked off his shoes haphazardly, hung up his tennis jacket, and tried to relax. Telling himself that everything would be fine, that he'd simply go to his room, lock up his door, and play videogames until he fell asleep. Yet he couldn't calm down; his body was on high alert, red zone, about to drop out of a flying plane into combat mode.

"Tadama," the prodigy muttered to no one in particular, out of habit more than anything else, peering around for his father. He was in the clear. There were no bullets to be dodged, yet. He carried his racket bag over his shoulder, like a soldier carries his gun, ready to use it like a baseball bat if need be. He took large timid yet confident strides toward the stairs, waiting, just waiting for his dad to appear from thin air. He had reached sector two, the stairway. He breathed deeply trying to calm himself down, his hands shaking, his mind whirling with the endless worst case scenario possibilities. He could do this, just thirty more feet to safety.

He climbed the stairs with utmost caution, carefully dodging the third step up. The step that squeaked when walked on. Somewhere along the way Karupin had discovered him carefully trekking upwards, and had near instantly bounced up the stairway without a care in the world, knowing that food would be distributed shortly. Ryoma wished he could climb with as much ease as a cat. God wasn't so kind however. He took another step before stumbled over a pile of clothes, his feet falling back, and his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to crash! Oh god no, dad would defiantly hear that! His hands reached out instinctively, and luckily found the railing, thank God. He breathed rapidly, his heart calming down a bit. Thank god he hadn't fallen. Maybe Kami just enjoyed screwing with him.

He reached the sanctuary of his room just in the nick of time, hearing something crash downstairs; the familiar footfalls of a drunken dad that he had grown so accustomed to over the years. He had no clue how dad had managed to cut back so much when his cousin was staying over, only going out and getting drunk with "friends" on Friday nights. Dad had no friends, which he knew of at least. He was drinking a little every day still, but not as bad as now. His cousin must have been blind as a bat. Ryoma could spot the way his dad ambled around with one shot of sake in his gut easily. It seemed his cousin only knew when he had fifteen or more, and that used to be just Fridays. Not anymore. Ryoma chuckled darkly to himself; that was just his life. He was cursed. It was all his fault. It wasn't her fault. Dad was good at hiding it, when he wanted to. Besides it was his fault dad started drinking to begin with, but he'd stop. He'd stop as soon as he could defeat him in tennis. Dad had promised him that much.

"Ry-ryoma? Ishh that too? I'm sar, 'm sorry 'oma" His dad called from down the stairs, slurring his words together, crashing into something in the process. The freshman simply shut the door not wanting to hear another false apology; locking the top lock, then the bottom, then the chain lock, then the middle lock behind him. He sighed sitting down at his desk, before grabbing a bottle of water, and a couple of acetaminophen pills that he had carefully hidden in his drawers. He couldn't have been more relieved about taking a pain killer. Everything was sore and stiff, a combination of his wounds, and too much exercise. He should probably change his bandages too, now that he thought about it. Only that could wait. He opened up his laptop in thought, it was actually his cousin's but she had loaned it to him until she returned, whenever that was. He smiled as it powered up, pulling the earphones off his Mp3 player and plugging it into the computer. Maybe he could watch a few silly videos for awhile? Maybe he could set up this website thingy his friends were all infatuated by.

Maybe the angels weren't crying after all. Maybe they were just biding their time.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Reviews appreciated!<strong>_ Sorry it took so long to get this out, school makes me rather busy xD. Its kind of hard to get in the mood to write, and just to find the time to write, between 5 page essay papers and long lists of math problems. LOL


	6. Chapter 6

_He had missed the bus to school that morning. He had forgotten to do his homework the night prior and had spent the morning doing arithmetic problems, but that was okay. He opened the box of Sweety O's cereal, and then poured a large amount of the colorful loops into his bowl. He poured milk too, only he probably got more on the counter then in his bowl. Oh well, someone would clean it. Maybe he'd be late to class? Then he could get out of the flashcard game. He didn't see why his teachers thought practicing multiplication was so fun. It wasn't a game. Games were fun. Math was boring. Not to state the obvious but, he didn't particularly like school. It was still better than last year; the year he had had a crash course in English, but not much better. His ESL teacher was nice enough; he just didn't like to stand out so much. His classmates in the regular class had all thought of him as that weird boy that couldn't pronounce "food" correctly. It had taken him forever to make a proper "f" sound. Yet, he had learned remarkably fast, well that's what the language instructors had said at least. He was now only a grade behind in reading class at least. He finished eating his breakfast quickly, scraping the bits and pieces of a stuck on red O from the side of his now empty bowl. Then, he hopped off his chair slightly annoyed, dad needed to buy a new chair that he could actually sit on. He was tired of having to literally climb into his seat. And then, mom was calling him; it was almost time for class to begin. _

_ Mom had a nice car. It was a silver car. A Japanese car. Dad had insisted that they buy a Japanese car. Just because they were living in America now didn't mean they had to by those "big loud clunky" American cars his dad had explained. He could remember his parents arguing in the parking lot, while the salesman stepped side to side, not understanding a single word that his parents uttered. "But what if we have more kids" his mom had reasoned, "We can always get a bigger car later, besides we're not having more children." his dad had countered. Ryoma could remember the fight as if it had happened only the day prior. His parents rarely disagreed about anything. Dad was a pushover that's all. Or maybe he just didn't care about most things. The boy didn't really like it when his parents fought. Yet, Ryoma was secretly glad that dad didn't seem to want more kids. He couldn't imagine having a younger sibling. All the kids at school said they were annoying, and he was apt to believe them. Besides, he didn't particularly want to share. He didn't know why he was thinking about that though. Maybe he actually wanted a little brother? He thought about it sometimes. It might be fun to have someone he could actually beat at tennis sometime. But not now, maybe when he had already gone to college. Mommy had always told him that someday he'd go to college. He didn't know when that would be though. He hoped it wasn't soon. He like it here. He didn't want to move again._

_ Mom smelled like nashi. She always ate fruit in the morning. Japanese pears were her favorite. The first thing she had done when she arrived in America was to find a supermarket that carried Japanese pears. Even before they moved their stuff into an apartment and all the other grown up stuff. He remembered the grocery store. It looked so different from the ones in Japan, and he couldn't understand anything the cashier had said. It was scary. He'd held onto his mom's hand tight. He didn't want to get lost in such a strange place. He could remember a lot, a lot more than people thought he could. In fact if he thought hard enough, he could probably even remember his own birth! _

_ Mom was pretty that day, she was always pretty. She was in a nice dress, a pretty dress. He didn't know the name of it or anything because he didn't really care. Boys weren't supposed to know fashion stuff anyway; well that's what the boys at school said. The popular ones. It was a nice blue dress though, and very pretty. Blue, Blue was the first color in English he had memorized. Blue like the sky, blue like the ocean, blue like Mt. Fuji. He liked the color blue. He liked it when mom wore her blue dress. Then, mom slipped into the driver's seat while he got into the backseat. He was just tall enough to sit in the car without a booster seat, which was awesome. He never liked being treated like a little kid. He understood a lot more then grownups gave him credit for. The green haired child buckled up snuggly looking out the window. Even if he still had to sit in the back seat, at least he got to look out the window. His classmates always complained about their older siblings stealing the windows seats, he was glad he had no siblings. _

_ He peeked out the window as the car rolled down the road. There were lots of buildings here. Familiar ones he'd passed every day. There was the gas station, the coffee stand, the weird shaped tree. He decided staring out the window was boring after five or so minutes and leaned against the door to sleep. Car rides were always boring. And so he drifted off. Mom was singing a song, a familiar Japanese pop song. She had insisted on having a tape deck built into the car, just so she could listen to Japanese pop music. He loved sleeping in the car. He loved the way to motor soothed him into a peaceful slumber. He loved the smell of nashi, and moms perfume. He loved the feel of the cushion and the way his mom's voice sang when she was happy. It was the best place to nap. _

_ Then, something jerked him forward—he could hear a gunshot ringing through his ears as his head slammed into the front seat. Only he couldn't remember parts of it. He was dizzy. So dizzy. And, it hurt, it hurt a lot. He couldn't think straight. Something was wrong. His body ached, and everything hurt. And something smelled bad. Really bad. He didn't know what the smell was. It kind of smelled like a gas station or burnt rice. He pulled his head out of the seat afraid to look out. Afraid something else would slam him forward. He could see glass. Glass everywhere. Glass all over his lap. He couldn't see that far though. He couldn't see the front seat. Everything was too smoky. He choked a bit, gagging on the soot. Scared, trembling even. ? He looked down trying to undo his seatbelt. There was a fire. He needed to get out. Only he couldn't see it, his hands were shaking to bad to grab it. And they were bleeding. Bleeding bad. _

"_Mom" He called out shakily, "Mom?" He shouted panicked fumbling with the buckle. "Mom?"_

_ It hurt, and mom wasn't responding. Had she left? No, what if mom had been knocked out? He had to save his mother! It was getting hot, to hot. He finally unstrapped himself coughing badly trying to open his door. "Mom! MOM!" He could hear sirens, he couldn't breath. He was dizzy. "Mom?" he tried again coughing violently, "mom?"_

And then he awoke. Shaking. His fingers trembling. He hadn't had that dream in ages. And now, now of all times it had to reappear. The prodigy unearthed himself from his blankets in a cold sweat. Numb. He carefully placed his feet on the floor and swung out of bed. He needed water, his throat was dry. He felt like vomiting, his skin was clammy, his body was shaking. He just had to relive it. He hated it. He wanted the memories to disappear. And without thinking he slammed his hands into the wall, punching a hole in the drywall next to his bed. He hated it. Hated it. Hated it. Why the fuck did he have to remember it. He was weak. And his mother was dead.

He tried to step forward but fell under his own weight. His knees couldn't support him. He was just a soft pile of mush. And so, he sat down in the corner, curling into a small ball, sobbing into his knees and rocking back and forth. His mom was gone.

She was gone.

She was gone.

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><p>I'm back from the dead! (^,-,^) LOL. But seriously, sorry about the extremely long wait and sorry this is so short too. 0_o' this quarter has knocked the wind right out of me. -_- Classes have been very stressful. VERY VERY stressful. -_-' I suppose that what I get for taking Japanese and pre-calc in the same quarter though. O_o Of course I wasn't expecting all these ca$h problems too. =( I need a job like yesterday. I think I'll go sell my plasma soon. But I'm uber scared of needles *runs* oh and blood too. Anyway, sorry for the rant, just thought I should explain why I haven't updated in a few months. And thank you to everyone who reviewed! I was very surprised to find new messages like a month or two after my last update =)<p>

I'll try to update faster this time (no guarantee though I'm still in Japanese class). Anyway please PLEASE submit a review for this chapter! xD


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The Prince of Tennis.**_

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><p>Ryoma woke up slumped against the wall in a rather uncomfortable position. His neck was stiff, and sore, just what he needed to start his day. He rolled his neck a little, only to find that it seemed to make the problem worse. He'd just have to ride it out. Dry tears stuck to his face, a reminder of the night before. It was something he didn't want to think about. He attempted to blink the thoughts away, the flames, the sirens, until there was nothing. He shifted slightly, staring at a small blemish in the wall opposite to him. It looked kind of like a tree. After a while his stomach grumbled, demanding food. Ramen, he would make himself some ramen—only this time his Dad would be sober. Surprisingly he could no longer feel his burns, or perhaps he had just gotten used to the feeling. He yawned stretching his arms involuntarily, and finally decided that he should get up.<p>

Once he had dressed, making sure to choose long baggy clothes, he went down stairs, tiptoeing. Dad wouldn't be drunk this early in the morning, but he might have a hangover. Which would make him a bit, well, irritable. He spotted his chichi in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. He didn't even want to know what was inside the magazine. His father grunted when he entered the kitchen, which was a good sign. He wasn't immediately screeching angrily at him for being too loud. Ryoma grabbed a package of noodles and set a pot of water on the stove, waiting.

"Ryuzaki called" his father spoke curtly watching his son as he prepared his food, "says since you have the day off today you should go to that shop you stole from and work off your debt."

Ryoma nodded stirring the noodles idly, "what time".

"Two" his father spoke offhandedly, going back to his reading.

"Got it," Ryoma sighed tearing open the seasoning packet and finishing up his meal. This morning shrimp flavored ramen, tonight pork flavored ramen. Just like America, he had a feeling he was going to grow sick of noodles soon. "Hey dad—"

"What do you want brat" his father jeered good naturedly, putting down his magazine to look at Ryoma as he sat down at the table with a steaming bowl of soup.

"Could I get some money for lunch today, and maybe a bit to play street tennis too?"

His father merely grunted pulling out his wallet and stuffing a pile of notes into his hands, "anything else?"

"No, not really" Ryoma spoke nonchalantly, sipping up broth while he planned out his next few days. He had plenty of money, for now, but any extra money he could get of Nanjiro when he was in a good mood would really help him out. It's not like he had a dozen gold rings lying around. And next week, should he really go to practice just to pick up balls with the rest of the first years, or should he just quit the team? It might look suspicious, but then showing up was becoming bothersome, and who knew how long he could hide the bruises in the locker room before his teammates started to notice. Things were just way too complicated. And how was he going to keep them from thinking their presumptions of a bully were off track? They'd figure it out eventually. He sighed, he should just quit now, fake an injury or something to get off the team. Less problems that way. Before he knew it his soup was gone. He stood up placing his dishes in the sink.

"Im'a go get some fresh air" he spoke disinterestedly noticing the clock on the wall, "It's eleven now, so I have three hours to kill."

"Thata boy" his father laughed ruffling his hair as he passed, "that is code for, I'ma go out with a hot girl right? Who is it?"

"Che" Ryoma sighed, "No girls Dad, just a walk."

"Whatever you say Ryoma, but I know what you're really up to!"

"Whatever old man."

"I'm not old!"

And with that Ryoma left, smiling just a tad bit. Why couldn't Dad always be like this? No, he would be. He just had to beat his Dad at Tennis. And how would he get better without the team? Ryoma shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, putting his hands in his pockets and walking off in some random direction. He could get better just by practicing on the streets, but if he faked an injury and any of the regulars saw him playing, well that wouldn't be good. No he could improve without anyone's help in his own back yard. He did that a lot in New York, why not here? He knew why. There was no one he could practice with in secret here. No Kevin. He missed New York a lot, more then he missed California. They both held a lot of bad memories, but there was some good mixed in, at least in New York. He had friends in the Big Apple. Real friends, who actually knew him, like Kevin, or his brother Ryoga. Ryoga, he blinked trying to erase the name permanently from his mind. Ryoga had left him, abandoned him to the mercy of his father. He was worse then Nanako, far worse, because he knew what he was doing. No, no one here in Japan really knew him, and if they did, they'd make a big deal of it, which he didn't want.

Before he knew it he had found himself in front of the Tennis shop, two hours early. He sighed looking for something else to do, the air was chilly and he was tired of walking. He spotted a sign advertising some game store a few blocks down, and began walking toward it. He could kill some time playing a demo, at least. And then what? He didn't know, but that was okay.

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><p>The shop owner had decided that he needed to work his hands to the bone in repentance. His job, his only means of redemption, was to wipe up the whole sales floor by hand with a soapy wet rag. He was glad the shop wasn't that busy, because he would seriously murder anyone who walked in with muddy shoes.<p>

"Echizen, don't forget to scrub the corners thoroughly, that's where dirt collects." The shop owner nagged as he walked about inspecting the teen's work. "This place is still dirty" the owner pointed with his fat finger to a smudge of dirt, "fix it".

"Okay," Ryoma spoke, trying not to sound bitter as he backtracked to where he was scrubbing before. His hands now resembled raisins, having been wet for so long. His Mom had always said that that was just a sign that he was extra squeaky clean when he sat too long in the tub. Only in this case his hands were filthy, dirty, he was a no good thief. He stood up wringing out the towel in a bucket of water and starting anew. His mother would be ashamed of him, he was a loser, a common criminal now. Not that he wasn't already. He had killed his own mother. If he hadn't have asked for a ride that day—he furiously scrubbed trying to forget. The school counselors, back in the States, had said it wasn't his fault. But he knew better, and his father did too. He was a murderer. Nothing more and nothing less. That's why he had to do something to make up for it. If he could beat his father, surpass him, then maybe his pathetic life would be worth something. He had scoured on autopilot for another hour, all the while thinking of his mother, when the old man had finally stopped him, pulling him out of his depressing thoughts. No tears had fallen. Not yet, but close. All he could think about was the fact that his mom would hate him. He was a lowlife. The thought left a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. He needed a smoke, Kevin was thousands of miles away, but damn it, he needed a smoke.

He walked away, never portraying any emotion as he left, carefully keeping his face blank when the store owner chided him once more on his shoplifting. The bell dinged, and he found himself back on the streets. He could have sworn he'd seen an old vending machine that had cigarettes not too far from the tennis shop. He quickened his pace as it began to rain, looking around for the machine as he made his way home. And then he spotted it, a couple blocks down.

"Old habits don't die" he muttered, stuffing bills into the machine and looking around nervously, the last thing he needed was some do-gooder saying he was too young for tobacco. He needed a smoke. He hadn't needed one this bad in ages. He couldn't stop thinking of his mother.

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><p>He didn't get caught, which was a good thing. Unfortunately he had spent all of his Dad's cash on a box of cancer-sticks. But that was okay too. His Dad smoked and he was plenty good at Tennis, so what did it matter? A slow suicide. He couldn't bring himself up to jumping in front of a train, but he could do this. He felt the box in his pants and continued walking until he arrived home.<p>

His Dad was nowhere in sight.

The green haired teen climbed up the steps to his bedroom cautiously, and then slid the door closed behind him, locking the top lock, then the bottom lock, then the chain lock unconsciously. Once everything was secured, he began rummaging through his drawers until his hands instinctively fell upon a lighter. Sweet, glorious nicotine at last. He sighed, sitting down on his bed, opening up the box of cigs. Did he really want to start again? He put a cig between his fingers with practiced ease, then flipped open the lighter with his other hand. No, he needed this. A flame came to life and a lit cigarette soon graced his lips. He sucked in a deep drag, holding it in then exhaling. It felt so damn good, why had he quit in the first place? He took in another drag contentedly, trying to figure out how to leave the team without also making them more suspicious then they already were. It was something besides his mother to think about.

He was on his fourth puff when the answer came to him. He would just toss the elimination match. Fake like he was playing hard, but in the end lose. Then he would be cut from the Regulars, he could drop out of the Tennis Club entirely claiming that the first year stuff was boring, and play street tennis while claiming to be practicing to get back on the Regulars. The more he thought about his new found plan, the more he liked it. He just had to be good enough at acting to fool Inui into thinking he was actually trying to win—which might be a challenge. A challenge he was up to. He was already a master at lying, and acting was kind of like lying he supposed. He could do it. He sucked in a couple more puffs, then threw the burnt up smoke into an empty glass mug. He had to make this convincing.

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><p><em>Ok guys I know you thought I had died, gotten sucked into a parallel universe, andor given up on this fic but I am back! Hahaha who am I kidding, you probably forgot about this story entirely and had to reread the whole thing. =P_

_So basically what happened is the summer after my last post I ended up pretty much working a ton, and I was too tired to do much of anything else. Then I was back at the community college again that Fall, taking 20 credits (on the quarter system)… completely insane, papers due on top of papers… not doing that again… Winter break came and I thought ok here we go I'll squeeze out a few chapters now… but my cousin died in an accident, which really made me not feel like writing for a while. Ok maybe "awhile" is understating it a little… so it took months for that episode of grief to subside. =/ It felt like the only good thing that happened was that I got accepted into the University as a transfer student in June =) Then I went back to write another chapter last August and my old Laptop died . . . and then grandpa died a couple weeks later… so yeah that threw a wrench in my writing… but I got a new laptop when my aid money came in at the end of September, and went off to start at my new school… Life…._


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